World Powers
by Drovenich
Summary: A single mistake by England brings a virtual apocalypse down on the Earth. As the nations race to stop their new enemies, loved ones are lost and old enemies become new friends. Multiple pairings. Rated M for Violence, Language, and Sexual Situations.
1. Life As We Know It

**Dro:** First fic in four years. Let's see if I remember how to do this.

**Chapter Summary:** England makes a grave mistake that could cost everyone their lives. And Italy is the poor soul that bears the brunt of it (at this point, anyway).

**Chapter Warnings:** Swearing, Violence

**Disclaimer:** Hetalia, of course, belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz, not little Dro on a fanfiction site. The only things that belong to me are my OCs and this particular plot.

* * *

Francis rolled his eyes, tuning out Arthur's irritating chanting. He couldn't understand why the man insisted on practicing his "black magic" all the damn time. There was absolutely no use for it in this day and age. And even if there was, Arthur was just plain terrible at it. He'd watched the British country nearly blow himself up twice today alone. One time his arm had caught on fire.

He sighed. _When will he ever learn?_

Arthur had his eyes closed, and his furrowed brows twitched with each syllable. This time, he was determined to perform a spell correctly. He'd been working on this for over six months: summoning a creature from a parallel universe. _It'll be my crowning glory. People will speak of the amazing England and his amazing magic for centuries to come!_ He chuckled inwardly, peeking at the bored Frenchman in the corner. _I'll teach you, Francis. I'll teach you to take me seriously._

The circle on the floor lit up, casting a red glow across the dim room. Arthur turned to the next page in his notes. _This is it_. He started chanting the final incantation.

Francis looked up again, wondering what Arthur's goal was. He'd been secretive about the whole affair despite his insistence that France be there to witness it. He thought back to the Summit Meeting earlier that week, where England had first asked him to come to his little "show." The dark bags around his eyes had worried Francis at the time, and he'd only agreed out of fear that Arthur was straining himself too hard. He wanted to watch and make sure the country didn't seriously injure himself.

The symbols on the summoning circle pulsed a bright white, and Francis let out a nervous cough. _Please don't blow up in his face and kill him…_ How would he explain that to America? He noticed the room had started vibrating, a deep thrum shaking his ribs. Arthur didn't seem to notice. His eyes were open, pupils dilated, lips forming words at a rapid pace. Like he was in some kind of trance.

Francis rose. "Um, Arthur?"

He didn't respond.

"_Angleterre_?"

He kept his gaze glued to the brightening light. Francis realized the man's body was trembling wildly, muscles twitching out of control.

"_Merde_." He rushed over to Arthur, shaking him. "Snap out of it, _mon cher_. You're starting to scare me!"

Arthur wanted to "snap out of it." He really did. But he couldn't. Something had control over him. He'd realized after the fifth word that he'd lost command over his body. Something inside the light…something on the other side had hold of him now. He tried to speak, tried to tell Francis to run. But the only thing that spouted from his lips was the incantation. Louder. Closer to the end. There were only two lines left until…he didn't know what.

"Arthur!" Francis smacked him.

Arthur's voice rose to a deafening volume. The last five words slipped off his tongue. _No!_ He screamed, but his vocal chords didn't respond.

Francis hesitated, fist raised, as Arthur stopped talking. "Arthur?" For a moment, the only sound in the room was the dull thrum of the circle on the floor.

"Francis…" Arthur regained control of himself. "Run!"

The circle exploded in a wave of energy. Francis barreled into the wall, cracking his forehead open. Arthur screamed as his back slammed into the door, the knob biting into his spine. Smoke consumed the room, and Francis frantically made his way to the limp Arthur, who had collapsed onto the floor. His lungs choked with each breathe. _Have to get out of here!_

He pulled Arthur clear from the door and forced it open, turning around to hoist the man over his shoulder. Sharp cold tore through abdomen, forcing him to a complete stop. Confused, he looked down.

A thin sword protruded from his side. He felt the other end flush against his spine as it exited his back. A thin stream of blood slid down the blade as his shirt absorbed the bulk of it, staining the fabric red. _Wha…_ Stunned eyes followed to the blade back to its owner, a hand gloved in black. Through the smoke, Francis could just make out the man's features. Short, dark hair. Glasses that framed dark eyes. Pale skin. And a satisfied smirk.

"So s'rry, boy-o. But ve kinda need y'r little fr'nd, you see?" The man's thick accent rang out against the crackling of the fire. "So, it seems I may hafta kill you, no?" He tugged his arm back, sliding the blade from Francis' body.

Francis stumbled back, his legs refusing to work. He hit the ground in searing pain, panicking to stop the rush of blood that poured from the wound in his side. He groaned as the blood coated his hands, oozing through his hands. _I'm going to die…Mon Dieu._

The man chuckled, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the blood from the blade. He sheathed it and bent down, pulling Arthur over his shoulder. With a wave goodbye, he walked through the open door, leaving Francis to bleed.

"_Merde_. _Merde_. No…Arthur. Damn it!" He crawled toward the door, his abdomen gushing blood with each movement. The fire had spread throughout the room, heading toward the door with increasing speed. Francis heaved his body out the door, nearly fainting as shooting pains surged through his nervous system. The fire closed in on him. _I've got to get out of here._

The stairs were several feet away, but Francis shuffled toward them on his knees and elbows. The fire ate at the door frame, peeling away the paint and blackening the wood. _A few more feet._ He cringed, biting into his lip as another wave of pain over took. _Keep going._

He peered over the edge of the steps, unsure of how to proceed. _I have to get up._ Leaning against the wall, he hauled himself into a standing position. Biting back the overwhelming pain, he took a step down the stairs, using the railing as a crutch. One step. Two. Three. Four. He counted with each breath. Five. Six. S—

The entire house shook on its foundations, sending him tumbling down the staircase. He screamed with each impact until he landed on the floor. A whimper broke free from his throat. The floor dampened with his blood. _This is it, then…_ He thought of Arthur and the man who'd stabbed him. _What's happened to you?_ _Dieu, I'm sorry. I can't…I just can't get up. I don't have it in me. Please, Arthur. Please forgive me._

The door of the house broke free from its hinges and hurtled across the room. "Arthur! Hey! You in here? You have to come outside! Now! We're being attacked! These freaky alien sky machines are dropping bombs on London! Arthur?" Alfred, worried, slowly entered the house. He was trying his best not to panic, but the giant sky-ship thing that had appeared out of thin air and attacked the city was getting to him. Whose was it? What country dared to attack them? What country had that kind of weaponry? That kind of technology?

He stepped over the threshold into the darkened house, windows broken and tables overturned by the bombing. "Arthur?"

A weak groan sounded off from around the corner. "Arthur?" Alfred broke around the corner in a run, his boots sliding as he came to stop, only to see… "Francis?" He dropped to his knees. "Oh my God! Francis? Can you hear me? What happened? Say something, man! Anything!"

"_A…rre."_

"What?" He cradled Francis in his arms, trying to put pressure on his profusely bleeding wound.

"Took…_Angleterre_."

"Took Arthur? Somebody took Arthur? Who?"

Francis weakly shook his head. "They took…him…They took…him." He tried to keep his eyes open, but his vision began to fail him. He let out a shaky breath before losing his grip on consciousness.

"France? Francis? Hey, wake up! Wake up! Don't you fucking die on me!"

* * *

"Ve, Germany, isn't it pretty?" Feliciano held the door open to let the group inside. Lovino sauntered in and flopped down in the last pew, Gilbert following him. Ludwig paused as he entered, marveling at the elaborate painted ceiling and stained glass windows.

"Yes, it's quite beautiful." They had gone off the beaten track of Rome for the Italies' shared birthday, picking quiet attractions and restaurants on their little sightseeing venture. Ludwig had been surprised when Italy had phoned him, asking for a small birthday get-together as opposed the enormous "pasta party" he'd had the year before. _But this,_ he glanced at Gilbert and Romano, _this is fine too._ _And it's the kind of thing bruder needs._

Gilbert had gotten better—a lot better—since the initial dissolution of Prussia, but he still had moments where Ludwig feared for his life. What was stopping him from disappearing like the Roman Empire? Ludwig shuddered. _Nothing._ Nations were apt to disappear when their countries ceased to exist. It didn't always happen. But it did frequently. If the nation in question lost his sense of purpose…If he slowly spiraled downward, and no land ever claimed him as a representative again…If…

Ludwig shook his head, trying to clear out the grim thoughts. _Not the time. Today is for celebration._ He put on a smile as Italy tugged him along toward the alter. It _was_ a beautiful cathedral. Italy feverishly blurted out the entire history of the small church, pointing out the meaning behind every little detail. Ludwig continued to smile as he looked around, his eyes lingering on the stained glass. One of them depicted Jesus on the cross. A martyr. A savior.

"Oi! West! I'm going outside to get a drink from that vendor down the street. I'm thirsty." Gilbert's knees cracked as he stood up, and he groaned. He was getting stiffer and stiffer as the days wore on. _Damn, I feel so old now!_

"All right." West nodded, still seemingly engrossed in little Italy's rant. Gilbert snickered as he headed out the door, shuffling by a pouting Romano. "What's wrong, kid? Jealous your bruder gets all West's attention?"

Romano snapped at him. "Hell no! Why would I care about the potato bastard's attention?" He glared, fingers impatiently tapping on the Bible he'd plucked from the pew.

Gilbert barked out a laugh. "Right. Suit yourself. Stew in your bruder-envy all you want, but it ain't going to go away if you don't do anything about it." He headed out the door and back onto the sunny street, shaking his head. _So in denial. So not awesome. _

He felt around in his pockets for some spare change as he headed toward the vendor. He pointed to the drink he wanted. _Still can't speak Italian worth shit._ He paid the man and turned back toward the cathedral, looking across the wide square lined with buildings. Just as approached the cathedral, a flicker of red caught his eye.

A shockwave rushed past him, hitting him in the stomach and nearly sending him backward. He stumbled, confused."What the hell was that?" He glanced around, realizing many of the humans in the area had been knocked down and were struggling to stand. "Shit." He whipped around, seeing the shockwave continuing on its way unhindered, tackling everybody in its path. "What the fuck?"

Inside the cathedral, the trio stood frozen. Ludwig looked around for any sign of another wave. Italy shook were he stood, unsure of what was happening. Romano just gaped. "Look, let's just keep calm and exit the building. Maybe we can find out what happened." Ludwig beckoned them to follow him as he made his way out the church, a frantic Gilbert meeting him as he opened the door.

"Did you feel that shockwave, West?"

"Yes, what was it?"

Gilbert eyed the humans outside. "No idea, but it hurt the normal humans. And it kept going too."

"The hell?" Romano trudged up. "Was it some kind of weapon? Did someone attack us?"

"I don't know." Ludwig replied. The German brothers were at a loss.

"Let's just get out of here and to the embassy. We need to call a world meeting immediately." Ludwig turned to call Feliciano, only to find another man standing in between them.

Italy cowered against the alter, the dark-haired man's sword pointing straight at him. A white coat shifted as the man turned his head, revealing deep brown eyes framed in wire-rimmed glasses, arrogant and smug.

"Ah, d'r me. It seems I've come up'n s'vral of you at the same time. This is prolly gonna be messy."

Ludwig took three steps toward the man, Gilbert flanking him. The latter motioned for Romano to stand back. Ludwig growled. "Who the hell are you?"

"Not of too much imp'rtance. My name's Dr'vich."

"Drovich? I can barely understand what you're saying, and that's not awesome!" Gilbert snapped.

"So s'rry. Seems I come fr'm a diffr'nt backgr'nd of sp'king, no?"

"Personally, I don't give a fuck how you speak as long as you take a step away from Italy."

"Italy? Ah, the cow'ring form in the corner here? Is that y'r nation's name?"

Ludwig's breath caught, and his eyes met Gilbert's. He cleared his throat. "How do you know about us? Nations as people?"

Drovich smiled. "Well, 'cause I'm one, of c'rse."

"Huh?" Gilbert asked. "There's no country called 'Drovich.' Unless that's your human alias?"

"No, it is my nation name. Well, p'rt of it. I am 'Rep'blic of Dr'vich'."

"Like I said, that's not a country."

He grinned. "Not in y'r w'rld, it isn't. Not yet, anyway." He lunged at an impossible speed, and Gilbert had to drop to avoid it. He hissed as his elbow slammed into the hard floor, but he managed to roll as the man's sword came barreling downward, striking the wood. Gilbert forced himself into a standing position, drawing his pistol. West mimicked him, and they aimed from both sides. Drovich just keep grinning.

"You all are f'rly weak, no? Small nations. So small. 'Cept you." He eyed Gilbert. "You are a dead nation, b'ding y'r time, no?"

Gilbert's rage spiked. He shot off a whole round, only to find the man was no longer standing there. He sensed him too late. The man's sword came at him. He tried to dodge, but he wasn't fast enough. The blade bit into forehead and cut down his face. Directly through his right eye.

He screamed and grabbed his face, sensing the sword coming down for the death blow. Shots rang out, the sound of bullets ricocheting off metal stung his ears.

"Ah, you want to fight too, then?"

Gilbert turned his bleeding face. West dodged, faster than Gilbert but not fast enough to evade the blows forever. From the view beneath the pews, Gilbert caught the crawling form of Italy shuffling toward the trembling Romano on the other side of the room. He made it to the gap between the pews and the back wall and faltered, unsure of how to make it to his brother.

Drovich spotted him.

"_Nein_! West, Italy!"

Ludwig saw him a fraction of a second too slow. Italy fell backward, trying his hardest to escape. Drovich appeared next to him, but West got off two shots, allowing Italy to escape for a brief second. Ludwig rushed toward Italy, trying to put himself between the terrified country and their new enemy.

Drovich chuckled. "You think my only w'pon is a sw'rd?" He placed his hand on the wall, a small glowing crystal around his wrist pulsing. A pulse of violet shot toward the ceiling, the massive beams collapsing over Italy's head.

"_Nein_!"

"Feliciano!"

"_Fratello_!"

Feliciano could only stare as the tons of debris dived for him. _Ludwig…_ A force threw him backward several feet, his head smacking into the wall. A strangled scream filled the room. Gilbert's scream of anguish. Grimacing, Feliciano pried his eyes open, trying to figure out what had just…

In front of him, a pile of rubble still settled, bits and pieces tumbling down the mound. And beneath it was a unmoving Germany.

Fear seized him. "Germany? Germany?" His voice rose in pitch. "Ludwig?"

He didn't move.

"Ludwig?"

Drovich laughed. "Can't say I didn't see that c'ming." A hand grabbed him, forcing the sword from his grasp. He evaded the blade as Gilbert struck at him, enraged.

"You motherfucker! I'll kill you!"

Drovich dodged, bored with the ease of his impending victory. He punched Gilbert in the stomach, causing him to lose his grip on the sword. Drovich snagged it as it fell and set it against Gilbert's head. "This time I'll dr've it into y'r br'n."

A pressure at his hips lost him his aim, and he looked to see Italy knocking him off balance. Annoyed, he kicked the boy off him and slashed at his face, dragging the blade down unmarred skin. Italy shrieked, his scream echoing through the church. Gilbert went for him again, his rage searing through his veins.

Drovich scoffed and raised his sword, ready to end the fight. Two hands grabbed his free wrist and pulled at something. He whipped around and kicked Romano, who had snuck up behind him, but the boy had already grabbed his crystal. He struggled, bringing the sword down to strike the boy before he managed to pull his power source free. Another set of hands stopped him, the force of Gilbert's impact sending him off balance and the three of them tumbling to the floor.

Drovich groaned, sending a pulse of energy out around him. Gilbert flew backward and landed on top of the pews, cracking bones sending waves of pain through him. Romano never lost his grip. Instead, energy shot through him, and he screamed, trying to pull away from it. But he couldn't let go.

"Shit!" Drovich cursed, trying to pry Romano's hands from his crystal. It pulsed, sending Romano sprawling backward several feet. He didn't rise. Drovich watched him for any sign of lingering energy. _Good, must not 've transferred._ A whimper to his left got his attention. Italy writhed with his hands on his face, his blood leaking through his fingers. He grinned. _Suppose I'll be m'rciful and put the poor kid out of his mis'ry. _

He trudged over to Italy and raised his sword high, ready to slip it right through the boy's ribs and into his heart.

"Don't you fucking dare."

Drovich turned to see Romano, standing limply as if his body was a puppet. _Shit._ Romano raised his hand, a pulse of violet electricity gathering at his fingers. Drovich met his green eyes, pupils ringed in purple. _Deep shit._

Romano released the pulse. The stained glass windows imploded, a kaleidoscope of a billion shards cutting into everything in their path. Romano directed them at Drovich, and they whirled around him, trapping him in place. _Oh, fuck. Lucast'rs' gonna give me hell for this._

He raised his right hand, summoning as much of his energy as possible. _Back to base for me. _He snapped his fingers, the energy engulfing him. The shards crashed into each other before raining harmlessly to the ground, Drovich no longer amidst them.

Romano's limp body fell face-first to the ground. Gilbert looked on in awe as he tried to stand. He fell between the pews, cringing at the waves of pain permeating his every nerve. _Got to get everyone out of here._ He staggered over to where Romano lay dead to the world. _Still breathing, thank Gott._

Feliciano's whimper caught his attention. He made his way over to him as fast as his haggard body could manage. Italy had curled himself into the fetal position, blood pooling around his head. "Kid, you okay?" Gilbert knelt down beside him, trying to coax the man's hands off of his face to assess the damage. But Feliciano wouldn't budge. "Hey, Feli, listen, you're gonna be all right? See, everything is gonna be awesome. I'm sure it's not that bad. Just let me see it, okay?"

Italy's grip on his face loosened, and Gilbert was able to guide his hands away. He was barely able to contain his horror. A weeping gash ran from Feli's left temple, across his face, over the upper bridge of his nose, and faded off near the edge of his cheek. _Gott, what a wound. It'll never heal all the way…_ "Like I said, it's not that bad." He lied. But Feli didn't seem to notice. His blood-stained eyes were wide and focused on Gilbert's face.

"Y…y…your eye…"

Gilbert bit his lip, unsure of what he looked like now. _Horrifying probably. _He had no desire to see what was left of his mutilated eye, and he berated himself for letting Feli do so.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine, okay? We just need to get up and out of here. You, me, Romano, and…"

They realized it simultaneously. Both of them looked toward the unmoving form of Germany trapped partially beneath the massive broken beams from the ceiling. Gilbert swallowed as he stood, pulling Feliciano up with him. The shaking country leaned into his chest, never taking his eyes off his fallen friend. Something metallic pressed into Gilbert's chest. He looked down.

West's iron cross hung from Feliciano's neck.

"Gilbert…"

"Y…yeah?"

"Is Ludwig dead?"

* * *

**Dro:** Ah, that felt good. Been a while since I've stretched the creative muscles like that. Let's hope I've done the fandom justice. By the way, **_please leave me a review_**. If I don't see this story is getting attention, I may drop it in favor of other projects. I need to see a response in order for me to continue. As it stands, I have the next two chapters written, so I'll be editing those for now and working on the fourth. I'll post Chapter 2 in a few days or if I see enough attention, sooner. _**Motivate me!**_

**Next Chapter:** The world reels from the massive air assaults of the mysterious attackers while the Italy brothers and Gilbert try to recover from Drovich's attack.


	2. Paradise Lost

**Dro:** Was expecting a little more turnout for Chapter 1, but since someone was _eager_ for the next chapter (you know who you are), I decided to be nice and post this earlier than I'd originally planned. Anyway, I hate having to ask this, but **_please review_**, guys. My goal is to learn what you think about my stories. Reviewing is what tells me what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. So throw me a line, okay? Even a "_I like/hate this part!_" is fine. Just _tell_ me, okay? I want to give you the best fic possible, but I need your help for that!

**Chapter Summary:** Gilbert, Romano, and Feliciano begin the road to recovery, and we finally find out what happened to France.

**Warnings:** Major Angst Moment, Swearing

**Disclaimer:** Same as before. Dro, the fanfic writer, does not own Hetalia.

* * *

Lovino swung his feet back and forth and stared out the window. Rome was still smoking. The dull ache in his chest refused to fade, and he wondered how many of his people had died. When he'd woken up to his national leaders panicking, he hadn't been able to remember the incident at the cathedral.

All he'd been told was that thirty airships had appeared hovering over major world cities and bombed the hell out of everyone. Capitals were decimated. Millions had died, and the airships seemed impenetrable. Thousands of their planes had been shot out of the sky without so much as a dent being put on the ships. Some kind of field surrounded it. Some kind of _magic_.

Already hurting from the attacks, Lovino had been faced with the harsh reality of what had occurred at the cathedral. His _fratello_ was…permanently scarred. And Germany…He clenched his fists. Germany had died trying to protect him.

He glanced at the sleeping Feliciano, his wound carefully stitched and covered. They'd been forced to put him under after Gilbert had dragged the brothers to a hospital. He'd been hysterical, or so Lovino had heard. He hadn't woken up for a full two days after…after what? After he absorbed some of that bastard's _magic powers_? He looked at his hands, wondering if the lingering energy had faded. Gilbert had told him what he'd done to the windows, though he still wasn't sure he fully believed it.

On cue, Gilbert knocked gently on the door and entered. He stared at Feliciano, but he spoke to Lovino. "How're you feeling?"

From his position, Lovino couldn't see the gauze that covered the right side of the man's face. But he knew it was there. And he knew what was under it. "A little better. Most of the fires have been put out now. My chest still hurts a little though. Any news about the airships? Have they made contact with us yet? Demands? Are they still attacking anywhere?"

Gilbert sighed and made his way to the chair beside Feliciano's bed. "They're still silent. We have no clue what they want or why they attacked us. We don't know anything at this point. All the countries are trying to get into contact with each other, but communications have been damaged. Which was probably the point of the preemptive strike in the first place. These bastards mean business."

"Who the hell are they though?" Lovino tapped his fingers on the sill. "How could these massive airship things just appear out of nowhere? I mean, they had to come from somewhere, but where on Earth could they have been hiding?"

"Maybe Earth isn't where they're from at all. You probably still don't remember, but that Drovich guy said he wasn't a country from our world. Maybe…maybe there's some of alternate universe or something out there. And they crossed into ours to try to conquer our planet."

Lovino stared. "Are you serious? An 'alternate universe'? That's the craziest shit I've ever heard! They're more likely to be aliens from Mars!" He huffed.

Gilbert snorted. "Think what you want. But since we don't have any sort of concrete answer, all we can do is speculate."

"True…" Lovino took a second to look Gilbert over. The man had a dark circle under his remaining eye, and his cheeks seemed to be on the verge of becoming sunken and hollow. His red eye seemed dull, and his hunched back made him look exhausted. "Hey, Gilbert. How are _you_ doing?" Lovino had been focusing all his attention on Feliciano. He'd completely neglected the fact that Gilbert _had_ lost _his_ brother.

Gilbert didn't speak for several moments. He raised a hand and ran it through Feliciano's hair. "As good as I can be, I guess."

"Have you…have you said your goodbyes to him?" He bit his lip, wondering if Gilbert had had it in him to see his brother's dead body.

"No. I haven't." Gilbert drew his fingers lightly down the dressing of Feliciano's wound. That was where he'd been for the last two hours, standing in front of the morgue door trying to force himself to enter, trying to bring himself to finally say farewell to West. He hadn't been able to. _Gott, West. I want to see you one last time, but I'm afraid it might make me want to follow you…and I can't do that yet. Not with…not with these two to take of._

Lovino wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the right words. Were there even words to comfort someone over the death of a brother? A groan snapped them both out their stupor. Feliciano's eyes cracked open, his lips drawing into a grimace as his facial muscles stretched his stitched-up gash.

Lovino rushed to his bedside. "Feli? Fratello? Can you hear me?"

"Lovino?" Feliciano languidly slid his eyes toward the two of them, recognition and realization slowly returning to him. He sprang up with a gasp. "Ludwig!"

Gilbert grabbed him and forced him back down. "Feliciano, calm down!"

"But…but Ludwig! He's hurt! The ceiling! The man! Gilbert…" It dawned on him. "Gilbert…tell me he's not…" a hysterical tear slipped down his cheek. "Tell me he's fine. Tell me he's in another room sleeping. Please…"

Gilbert's heart ached. "I can't do that, kid. I can't lie to you about that…"

"He's…He can't be…He can't be dead! He can't be!" Feliciano struggled to break from Gilbert's grasp, but even weakened, the former country was stronger than him.

Lovino staggered back, trying to hold himself together. _I can't see him like this. I can't stand it._ He headed for the door, ignoring Gilbert's yell for help, and ran down the hallway. He didn't stop until he reached the lobby of the hospital. Spotting a café, he sauntered over to it, only to run into two of his leaders.

"Romano! There you are!" One of them said. "We were just coming to look for you. We've been contacted by several other world leaders. We're holding a secret conference in Spain on Monday. We'll be leaving on Friday in a convoy, so make sure you have what you need. We'll be deciding where to create our base of operations, so you may want to gather all your important belongings, as we'll probably ending up living in a secure facility somewhere. We don't want to make too many trips around Europe. Those bastards, whoever they are, might snuff us all out if we moved about too openly."

Lovino nodded along.

"And make sure Veneziano is ready to go too. We're shipping all his things here immediately. You can sort through them if you need to throw some stuff out. That is, unless he's well enough to do it himself. I haven't been to see him. How bad are his injuries?"

"Um, well…I think the psychological damage may been a little worse than the physical."

The man frowned, placing a hand on Lovino's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Romano. I know you care about your brother, and I realize this is a lot to handle in a short amount of time. But if we want to win against these people, we have to prepare ourselves. If Veneziano needs a psychiatrist, a counselor, medicine…whatever he needs to get better. I'll make sure he gets it no matter what."

"Thank you, sir."

The two men walked off chatting with each other. _I can't escape this, can I? No matter where I go, I'll just be facing a different aspect of this damned invasion!_

Gilbert aimlessly walked the hallways. The nurses had rushed in and sedated the struggling Feliciano, and at that point, Gilbert could no longer stand the sight of him. _That poor kid…_ He rubbed his temples, trying to keep himself together. _What the hell am I supposed to do now? _

Eventually, he found himself back at the morgue. The dank atmosphere made him shiver, and the doors beckoned him to drown himself in sorrow. He placed his palm on the door but hesitated to push it open. He'd asked them hours ago to leave West in a position where he could see him on last time, but…_Gott, just do it, Gilbert! _He forced himself through the doorway, freezing as it swung shut behind him.

West's body lay exposed one of the autopsy tables. They'd had the decency to cover him up to his shoulders, hiding the grotesque damage that the crushing tons of debris had done to him. Gilbert shook as he neared his brother's body. Trembling fingers rose to caress West's messy blond hair, speckled with dirt. Gilbert's eye stung as tears broke free from his lids.

"West. _Mein Gott_, West." The floodgates broke. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I should've been able to save you, damn it! I'm your brother! I should've been able to…I should've…I should've…"

He kicked a table violently, sending containers of medical instruments crashing to the floor. "Fuck! Fuck it all!" He beat his fists against the wall, not caring as the rough stone sheared his skin off. "Fuck! Fuck…_Gott,_ West! No…" He slid to the floor, propping himself against the wall. "I'm so sorry…Please forgive me."

From the doorway, Lovino watched Gilbert's tirade. _Everybody's breaking down._ _Will I be next? Reduced to a mass of hysterical sobbing? Damn it. Damn it all._ He turned from the morgue and started back toward the elevator.

The pain and the shaking struck him together. The entire hospital quaked on its foundations, bombs raining down in the surrounding neighborhoods. Sirens went off, signaling an another air raid had started. Lovino's heart started beating erratically, and he struggled to breathe. The pain in his chest escalated, the pounding in his chest growing to astronomical heights.

He fell to his knees, crying out and clutching his shirt. _Make it stop! Make it stop!_ He knew he wouldn't die from the attacks. Every speck of Italy would have to obliterated for that to happen, and even then he might still live like Gilbert. But the _pain_. He gasped, desperately trying to pull air into his seizing lungs. He started to sway sideways, the ground rushing to meet his head. _Please, just let this be the end of me. _

A pair of arms caught him, bloodied hands pulling him back up. "Stay with me, Lovino. You can get through this."

"G...Gilbert?"

"Shush. Just concentrate on staying awake, okay? Your country needs you in the best condition possible. It's just as bad for a nation to die as it is for a nation to lose his country. Without you alive, Italy would fall apart much faster. You need to be strong, kid."

"What? You mean this _can_ kill me? This invasion?"

"Remember, Lovino. The_ invasion_ is what killed West." Gilbert pulled him into his chest, rubbing his thumbs into Lovino's arms for comfort.

The sounds of the bombing eventually faded, and the pain started the abate in Lovino's chest. He relaxed against Gilbert's chest, exhausted. "Don't think I can walk." His face burned. _Why am I so weak? Plenty of others have faced much worst disasters and still stood strong._

Gilbert said nothing as he pulled Lovino into his arms and lifted from the ground. They ran into a nurse as they entered the elevator, and she quickly took them to the second floor and ushered Lovino into a bed. Gilbert looked him over. Fatigued, but alive. When he come around the corner and seen Lovino on the ground, he'd thought…_No, he's fine._

Lovino stared at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. His fingers clenched the pristine white sheets. From his periphery, he could see the thick smoke of new fires in Rome. He grunted. "Gilbert…the window…"

Gilbert turned, realizing what was upsetting him. He pulled the curtains to, blocking off the room's view of the carnage in the once beautiful city. They sat in silence for half an hour after that, Gilbert contemplating his next plan of action. _Germany is probably falling apart now without West. They need a representative. _An idea had sprouted in his mind, but his reservations were stifling its growth. _I could be…I could try to…but that would be an affront to bruder. How could I possibly take his place?_

A soft knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. He glanced at Lovino, noticing he'd fallen asleep. He slipped from the chair and opened the door to reveal a nurse. Behind her were Italy's leaders, and behind them…

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, we need to have a word with you."

* * *

His stomach throbbed as he shifted, his eyelids feeling like dead weight. He managed to open his eyes, but he snapped them shut as blinding light seeped in. His ears picked up arguing voices.

"What if he doesn't wake up? What if he dies?"

"He's not going to die? He needs to tell us who took Arthur!"

"Oh, is that the only reason you want him alive?"

"C-can you p-please stop arguing?"

"Look, we're in a world war now. We need all the information we can get and all the strongest countries in the world to help fight back. And one of them is England!"

"I understand that, Alfred, but wherever Arthur is, he's long gone by now. If those bastards with the sky fortresses really took him, then we have pretty much zero chance of getting him back."

"L-look, just s-stop arguing, okay? We need to work together."

"Don't say that! He's alive, and we're going to save him!"

"Alfred, be realistic!"

"Can you imbeciles please stop arguing? I'm trying to sleep here." He mumbled.

The trio paused.

"Francis?" Antonio's voice rose as the man leaned over him. "Can you hear me?"

"Well, obviously."

"Sorry, it's just…we weren't sure when you were going to wake up. It's been three days now."

"Three days since…" He sat up, cringing as his abdomen flared with pain.

"Whoa!" Antonio's hands rested on his shoulders. "Careful. Don't rip your wound open again, please. You were in surgery for seven hours the first time. We don't need a repeat."

Francis nodded, propping the pillow up and leaning back in a sitting position. He took a good look around the room, spotting Canada and his bear staring worriedly and America brooding in the corner. "Arthur…I'm guessing you weren't able to find him?" He met Alfred's eyes.

Alfred shook his head. "I looked everywhere after I took you took you the hospital, but I couldn't find a trace of him. Coupled with the bombings, I had no choice but to cut off my search. There were too many innocent people to protect."

Francis put his hands over his face. "Oh, _Angleterre_. What have you done?"

Antonio looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"This…these people that are attacking us. I think Arthur summoned them by accident."

"What?" Alfred marched up to him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Francis bit his tongue before explaining Arthur's spell. He still wasn't sure what it had been for, but he had at least a vague idea what it had done. He detailed the man that had attacked them and what he had said. The entire room was silent after he finished, Canada having gone pale and Antonio and Alfred staring at him, shocked.

Antonio coughed. "What could he have possibly wanted Arthur for?"

"I…I don't know, but I think it may have been related to the spell somehow. Maybe if Arthur had the power to bring them…um, to this dimension, I guess…then perhaps he would have also had the power to send them back. Maybe he took him to make sure that didn't happen."

"Another dimension. A parallel universe…God, this sounds a shitty sci-fi novel!" Alfred gripped the bed railing. "Jesus, Arthur, what the hell were you thinking?"

"No idea." Francis answered. "But I'm pretty sure it wasn't this."

"I…I'll go get some lunch. You're probably hungry, right Papa?"

"_Oui_, Mathieu. That would be nice."

Canada slinked out of the room. Alfred watched his brother go, wondering if the pressure was getting to him. Canada hadn't been too viciously attacked at this point, but Alfred knew he was concerned that the airships would move northward until they reached him and decimate his people. Alfred's land had suffered some stiff blows, especially in the major cities, but for the most part his country had managed to keep it together. Not all countries had been so lucky.

Antonio was visibly suffering. He'd lost his three biggest cities, and it had zapped his strength. France has lost Paris, but the countryside was still intact, and Francis' people had fled there and into hiding. It was only a matter a time though before the air raids destroyed everything in their path. If they couldn't find a way to stop these people, whoever the hell they were, then the entire world could end up…

Francis met Alfred's intense gaze. "So, what's your plan,_ Monsieur_ Hero?"

* * *

**Dro:** Well, perhaps _recover_ was pushing it as a descriptor for the trio. Anyway, that's all for now. Now make Dro proud and tell her how you really feel, even if you hate her!

**Next Chapter:** Gilbert gets a _special order_, Feli has another breakdown before turning awesome, and the trio finally head for Spain, meeting up with a few old friends along the way.


	3. A Glimpse of the Sunrise

**Dro:** Hey, look, it's Chapter 3! It's finally time for the "reeling after the initial attack" part to end. Things finally start to move forward, and after like...two more chapters start moving _really_ fast with tons of characters involved. Anyway, enjoy. This one is _Prussia-centric_, so I'm sure it'll be a well-loved chapter.

**Chapter Summary:** Prussia gets a new iconic look. Feliciano finally does something other than panic. And Romano...is..well...it's Romano.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Blah, blah, little Dro doesn't own APH.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want a glass eye instead?" The doctor asked, checking over his healing face.

"Positive, Doc. I think I'll stick with something a little classier." Gilbert grinned, a good mood overcoming him for the first time in days. They would all be leaving Rome in a convoy tomorrow morning for Spain, where the remaining nations and their leaders would discuss how to best combat the international threat. Then, they could finally accomplish something instead of sitting here idle while those bastards' bombs crippled them. And then maybe Romano and Italy would start feeling better…

Italy.

_Oh, Feliciano._

His mirth faded. The second time Feliciano had woken up, he hadn't had a panic attack or been hysterical or cried or screamed. But _Gott_, Gilbert wished he had. Instead, he'd stared blankly out the window, oblivious to the world around him. He'd refused to respond to anyone, even Romano, who was now afraid he'd lost his brother forever. Gilbert knew it was grief. Of course it was grief. Feliciano had had someone he cared about—someone he _loved_—ripped away from him.

It didn't help that his _bruder_ had died protecting Feliciano. Gilbert could see the guilt, the self-blame, pooling in the young man's eyes. _I have to find a way to snap him out of it. His emotional state is damaging Lovino's further. If the two of them keep spiraling downward like this…I'll lose them both, and the world will lose Italy. _But he was at a loss. How did he fix someone who was breaking in the way Feliciano was? Gilbert's ultimate fear was that he'd already lost Feliciano, that the smiling, pasta-loving boy who glowed with happiness was already dead and in his place was a battered shell.

_No! Don't think like that. I'll get him back. I _will_ get Feliciano back. The true Feliciano. The happy Feliciano. Somehow…some way…_

"All right. That's it for you, Mr. Beilschmidt." She wrapped new dressings around his eye. "You should be good to go for tomorrow morning. Just remember to keep it clean. And I'll have your…_special order_ ready for you in the morning. Just stop by the nurse's station before you go." She handed him a bag of disinfectant and gauze.

He gave her a half-hearted smile. "Thank you, Doc."

His new boss was waiting for him in the lobby. As he approached, one of the man's advisors pointed him out.

"Ah, Germany, there you are."

Gilbert cringed. _Must he call me that?_ _I'm not bruder._ Gilbert's faint idea had been realized in full the day before. They'd sat him down and told him, that, as the only nation not currently representing a country and since Gilbert was, for all intents and purposes, German, that he was to act as the new Germany. Surprising even himself, Gilbert had viciously rejected the offer, but the German leaders had refused to let him go without accepting. Eventually, he'd calmed down and talked himself into it. Without a representative, _bruder's_ people would die off, his land would become barren, and Germany would cease to exist as they knew it.

So he'd accepted the offer. And the pain had immediately started. The dull ache of the attacks on his new country had started growing in chest. But at the same time, a new sense of power had come over him. The stiffness in his joints had started to recede. The strength he'd lost from his decades without a country had begun to return. The feeling of completeness that he'd lost after World War II finally sprouted in him again, filling the gaping wound left by his dissolution as Prussia.

"So, how are you health-wise?" The man asked.

"Better. I'm recovering."

"Good to hear. Are you ready to leave tomorrow?"

He nodded.

"I'll see you in the morning then. I have some paperwork to attend to. Even in all this mess, there's still paperwork."

Gilbert forced a laugh and waved as the man walked off. Sighing, he headed toward the elevator and took it to the second floor. The door to Feliciano's room was closed. He knocked, expecting to get no reply, and jumped when Romano opened the door.

"Oh, you're feeling better?"

Romano's strength had finally returned earlier in the day. He was still short on breath, but the immense chest pains from the day before were but a memory. "Much. I suppose you're here to see _fratello_?" His voice was solemn.

Gilbert lowered his voice to a whisper. "Has he spoken yet?"

Romano shook his head. "I've tried everything. But all he'll do is sit there and stare. I tried to get him away from the window because…well, you know…but he won't listen to me, and I don't want to drag him away from it by force."

"Let me try." He doubted he'd have much more luck than Romano, but it was worth a shot. Romano opened the door wider and let him in, his eyes immediately landing on Feliciano. He sat slumped in a chair next to the window, dull eyes looking outward at the burning city.

Gilbert walked up to him, flipped a chair around, and sat down, resting his chin on the back of it. "You know, Feli, it would probably do you some good to be up and about. I mean, all you've been eating in this shit hospital food, which is so not awesome! You should go make some pasta. Surely you miss your delicious homemade pasta, right?" He reverted back to his most cheerful voice, trying to rouse Feliciano's awareness.

And he did. Only not the way he intended.

Wild brown eyes met his, rage boiling in them. "You." The accusation rung out clearly.

"Um…_fratello_, what's wrong?" Romano slowly walked up to them, frightened by his brother's sudden change.

"You…" He stood up, and Gilbert mimicked him, unsure of where this was going. "You're a country again."

Oh. _Oh._ He could sense it. _Of course he can!_ He could sense that Gilbert had regained country status, just as Romano had the day before. But where Romano's reaction had been surprise and relief, Feliciano…

"How dare you…" He took two steps toward Gilbert. "How dare you think you take his place? You motherfucker!" He lunged, tackling Gilbert to the floor.

Romano yelled, grabbing his brother's shoulders and trying to pry him off. Feliciano's hands wrapped around Gilbert's neck, squeezing as hard as he could manage. Gilbert grabbed his wrists, trying to get his neck free before Feliciano succeeded in cutting his air off.

"How dare you try to take Ludwig's place? How dare you?"

"_Fratello_! Calm down! He has to or Ludwig's people will die! You know that! Do you want that to happen?"

He faltered, releasing his grip. Gilbert flipped him over, reversing their positions. He struggled, screaming in rage. "Calm down, damn it! Feli! Do you really think Ludwig would want you to be like this?"

He froze. "Don't…" Tears ran down his cheeks. "Don't do that. Don't try to guilt-trip me with his memory like that. Don't you dare."

Gilbert was at a loss. "I…I'm sorry. But you need calm down. No one is trying to take West's place, Feli, especially not me. I just want to protect his people, some of which used to be mine, if you remember."

Feliciano's body relaxed, and he broke his eyes from Gilbert. "I know that. I know…but…what if…what if everyone…?"

"Forgets him? You really think that will happen? Do you honestly think everyone will forget the awesomeness of Germany?"

He didn't answer. Gilbert moved off of him, pulling Felciano into a tight embrace. "No one is going to forget West. Not ever. I'll make sure of it. Trust me, Feli."

Feliciano sobbed into his chest. Gilbert glanced at Romano, who eyes were focused on the floor, hurting. _He can barely stand it, seeing Feli like this, so changed, so broken. _He gripped Feliciano tighter. _I can barely stand it_.

* * *

This was the most boring trip he'd ever been on. There was absolutely nothing to do. A puzzle? That would have been fine. A game? Sure. Music? Awesome. But nothing? So not awesome. The distinct lack of conversation didn't help. It was a _long_ drive to get to Spain, and the plan was to make it in as little time as possible, which meant driving all day long for several days. Gilbert was crammed in the back seat of a car with Romano and Feli, and he really wasn't happy about it.

_Gott, there has to be something to do besides looking out the window_. Almost every town they passed had faced some sort of damage, some more than others. Some had been wiped clear off the map. Everywhere they looked, they could see smoke in the distance. _It's like a freaking apocalypse._

He looked at the Italy brothers. Feli was situated near the window, much to Gilbert's dismay. But he'd insisted. He was brooding now, something Gilbert had never believed he'd see Feliciano doing. _At least he's gotten past the hysterical phase_. Feliciano had remained eerily calm since they'd left earlier that day, muttering short answers and staying as quiet as possible. But at least he was responding now. The lifeless statue from the day before had melted into a angry, sorrowful man. _Bit by bit, Gilbert. He'll recover bit by bit. I hope…_

At their first checkpoint, they met up with Lithuania, Poland, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. The four of them had fared much better than other countries, and it was obvious they were in better health than either him or the Italy brothers. Over dinner, Gilbert described the attack on them by the man called Drovich, as well as what happened to West. Through the entire story, both he and Romano had continually glanced at Feliciano, waiting for him to snap. But he didn't seem to have any response to the retelling of the greatest tragedy in his life.

"I can't believe it." Toris replied after Gilbert finished. "Germany. Dead?" He glanced at Italy. "Are you all right?"

Gilbert and Romano tensed, waiting for an outburst. Feliciano looked up from his soup. "Sure. Isn't everyone fine after losing the love of their life?"

Toris paled. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean…I'm just concerned…"

"Hey, Italy, don't be like that!" Feliks snapped. "I know you're like, hurting a lot and all, but that's no reason to take it out on poor Liet. We're your friends, not your punching bags."

All four of them were visibly shocked at Italy's massive personality change. Feliciano grumbled, taking another spoonful of soup.

Vash attempted to change the subject. "So, who will we be meeting up with tomorrow? I've heard that Roderich is already in Spain along with Elizaveta."

Gilbert answered. "If I'm not mistaken, we should be running into the convoy with the Nordics and Netherlands. The six of them left yesterday."

"Do you know what state they're in?" Liechtenstein asked timidly.

"No idea." He replied. "But if they're coming, we can safely assume they're in good enough condition to be moved. From what I've seen on the news, there's only one airship that far North, and it hasn't done too much damage to either country."

"Good to hear." Feliks added before chugging down his tea.

After dinner, they all split up to do their own things. Feliks and Toris chatted in one corner of the room while Romano sat silently next to Feliciano. Vash took his sister and went to speak to his superiors. Gilbert, on the other hand, cleaned his gun. _Let's hope to Gott I don't need it any time soon_. But he wasn't keeping his hopes up. He'd been expecting their convoy to be attacked at anytime. And the bigger it got, the larger a target it became for an air assault.

"Teach me."

He jumped, dropping his gun on the table. He looked up to see Feliciano standing over him. "What now?"

"Teach me. How to use a gun."

Gilbert blanked. "Um, why…?"

"Because I'm pretty damn sure I'll need to know how to use one."

Gilbert swallowed. "I'm pretty sure you've used a gun before, Feli."

"There's a difference between using a gun and using a gun _well_, Gilbert."

"Ah, so, you want to do shooting practice then?"

He nodded, a spark of fierce determination lighting up behind the compressed pain in his eyes.

Gilbert wasn't sure if this was a good idea. In fact, a part of him thought it was a very bad idea and feared that this would somehow lead to Feliciano's death. But he swallowed his reservations. Everyone who could fight needed to. And that included Feliciano. "All right. Meet me out back in an hour."

* * *

Gilbert took a deep breath as he sat down in front of the mirror. Feliciano had caught on fast, and he wondered if it wasn't that Feliciano didn't have skills, but that he'd been too afraid to use them. He'd gotten good so quickly, Gilbert was almost sure of this. _He's almost as good as I am._ And that terrified him. _What kind of strength does Feliciano really have?_ Gilbert had always seen Feliciano as the good-natured weakling. He was cute, joyous, and air-headed. With his new personality shift, it was like he'd physically become a different person too.

He'd also asked for physical training earlier, and Gilbert had been more than surprised when Feliciano had kicked him off his feet. It brought back old stories he'd heard from Roderich, stories of Feliciano beating up the Ottoman Empire. _Has he always had this kind of strength?_ There was only one problem that Gilbert foresaw with Feliciano fighting an enemy, and that was the sensitivity over his face.

Feliciano had recoiled wildly whenever any blows came toward his face. The fear was easy to spot. The healing gash, still bound and stitched, would be a lasting scar on the young country's face, and Gilbert could see that Feliciano would be damned if he'd get another wound that bad. Gilbert wondered what would happen when the gauze and stitches came off, leaving a shining pink scar running down Feliciano's face for the world to see.

Sighing, he stripped the tape from his face and unwound the gauze. His empty right eye socket met him in the mirror, and he frowned. _Gott, that is ugly_. The cut around his destroyed eye had mostly healed, a thin pale scar overtaking the angry red gash. He dug around in his bag for the package he'd picked up from the nurse's station before he'd left. He opened it, taking out his special order, and placed it over eye and head.

A knock at the door interrupted him. Grinning, he opened it to reveal Romano, whose expression went from shock to disbelief to annoyance.

"An eye patch, Gilbert?"

"I know, it's fucking awesome right?"

"You…I don't even know what to say that."

"So awesome you've been rendered speechless, huh?"

"Just let me in, you dumb bastard."

Romano shuffled into the room, slamming the door behind him. "What in the world have you down to my _fratello_?"

"Hm?" Gilbert looked back into the mirror, adjusting his patch.

"Where did he get a gun?" Romano tried again.

"Oh, that's one of mine. He decided he wanted me to teach him how to use it properly."

"And you agreed? In the condition he's in?"

"His condition doesn't change the fact that we need all the help we can get to defeat those bastards in the sky. Plus, considering Feli now holds a grudge against them, I think it would best if he actually knew how to fight. Unless you think him lunging at one of them enraged with no fighting skills would benefit him more."

Romano looked ready to object, but he bit his lip. "Fine. You have a point. But that doesn't mean I feel any better about him having a weapon."

Gilbert realized what he meant. "You think he might hurt himself?"

Romano swallowed roughly. "Honestly? I don't know what to think. Feliciano's turned into a completely different person. I can't even get to him to call me Lovino anymore, much less _fratello_. It's like my _fratello_ died and was replaced."

Gilbert put his hands on Romano's shoulders and squeezed. "Give him time, kid. Imagine if you lost someone that important to you, like Antonio."

Romano pulled back, face reddening. "T—that…would _not_ be the same thing."

Gilbert chuckled. "You sure about that?"

"Y—you…you don't know anything." He bit his lip, trying not to meet Gilbert's amused eyes.

"Really, so if I kissed you right now, you wouldn't be upset about it because you're not with Antonio, right?"

"W—what? Don't you dare kiss me, you potato bastard!" He backed toward the door, face on fire.

"Hey, whoa! That was a hypothetical situation!"

"Just stay away from me, you creeper!" He bolted out the door, leaving Gilbert standing there, confused.

"I was just kidding…"

* * *

**Dro: **Hey, look, a chapter that wasn't 100% emo! Which is completely negated by the overwhelming emo-ness of the next chapter...-fails at happy- _**Reviews are love, guys. Remember that!**_

**Next Chapter:** We break away from Prussia and the Italies to get a glimpse at how the Nordics (and Netherlands) are doing. Everything is going well...at the beginning of the chapter.


	4. Dark Side of the Moon

**Dro:** I can see the SuFin community murdering me for this chapter...I swear to God this story has a marginally happy ending, so please don't shoot me!

**Chapter Summary:** The Nordics (and Netherlands) are attacked on their way to Spain. Angst ensues.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Note:** On the Nordics

Emil = Iceland

Lukas = Norway

Mathias = Denmark

Abel = Netherlands (because I refuse to call him _Lars_. I hate that name.)

**Note 2: **Despite the fact that I didn't intend to reference Japanese, I kept the nickname "Su-san" because I couldn't think of an equally cute English equivalent.

**Disclaimer:** Same old. Still don't own APH.

* * *

The bumpy road jostled them as they neared the border. Tino cringed, hoping they'd reach the checkpoint soon. He was starting to get tired from the long drive, and his attempts at a nap had been foiled by the bumps in the road. _Parts of houses, blown to bits. Everyday items from notebooks to milk cartons. And…_ He shuddered. There'd been bodies in the road when they'd passed through one town.

"Su-san, how long do you think it'll be before we reach the checkpoint?"

Berwald sighed, eying Tino with a look of disinterest. "D'nt know." He mumbled.

Tino went back to peering out the window, his heart aching at the carnage. He glanced up toward the front of the vehicle, where two armed guards sat. He could see the other military hummer behind them in the side mirror, and he wondered what the others were doing. When they'd left, Mathias had been itching for a fight with the attackers, swinging his axe around like a mad man. He'd ended up in a fight with Su-san, whose staff now had a few more scratches.

Abel had been the one to stop them, and he was still in a sour mood when they'd departed. It was obvious that he was pissed at being lumped with the Nordics, but it just so happened that one of their checkpoints passed right through the Netherlands, so…On the other hand, Emil and Lukas were acting like their normal selves, though Mr. Puffin had noticeably become more silent since the attacks started.

"Sirs," one of the guards said, "we'll be approaching the checkpoint in about twenty minutes."

"Finally." Tino was relieved. He was ready to jump out of the car and stretch his legs. "Hear that, Su-san? Just a little while longer and we'll finally be able to relax for the night."

He grunted.

Fidgeting, Tino replied, "Don't be like that. It's not all that bad. We have all our belongings and we're together and we're still safe and—"

A jarring explosion sent the car tumbling over, Tino screaming in panic. His head slammed into the window, slicing his forehead open. He lost count of how many times they flipped before they came to a stop, and before he had time to get himself together, he felt himself being dragged from the car and out onto muddy ground.

"Tino!" Su-san's voice rang in his ears.

He opened his eyes, seeing the worried man hovering over him. "Hey, you finally lost that stoic expression."

Berwald snorted. "N't the t'me, Tino. C'n you st'nd? We n'd to r'n."

He managed to right himself but found himself swaying, his head pounding. He noticed Su-san had a cut on his shoulder, the fabric of his long coat torn where'd he cut it on something. Looking around, Tino realized a plane had bombed them—and was still bombing them—and the convoy was now in pieces, scattering off in different directions planned ahead of time in case of this exact scenario. He worriedly glanced at their destroyed vehicle, realizing the two guards were dead.

"Su-san…"

The larger man pulled him roughly, swinging him over a small hill. "Don't m've. One of _them_ is c'ming."

Tino faltered, wondering what was happening. _They must've found out about the convoy. They were probably waiting._ He heard Su-san release the bags from the top of the over-turned hummer, maneuvering them around the best he could until he freed the one with his staff in it.

"Here we go ag'n. An'ther fight with an'ther one of you weak bast'rds." A voice sounded off from across the field.

Tino shrunk down the best he could, pressing himself again the damp grass.

"Who are you?" Berwald asked. He eyed the hill where he'd hidden Tino. _Stay there. Pl'se. _

"I go by Dr'vich. And you?"

"Swed'n."

"Well, this sh'ld be an intr'st'ng fight. Let's see what you c'n do with that st'ff, _Swed'n_." Drovich took off, appearing next to Berwald in the blink of an eye, swinging the sword toward his face.

He blocked it, the force of the impact sending him skidding across the mud. _D'mn. Str'ng. Real Str'ng. _Drovich moved in for another attack, and Berwald slipped around him, launching the staff in a complete circle as he turned, aiming all his momentum at Drovich's head. The man dodged at the last moment, pushing himself off the ground with his knees and slicing his sword into Berwald's side.

He pulled back at the last second, preventing Drovich's sword from fatally wounding him. Blood ran down the side of his coat, staining the blue fabric a dark violet. He stepped back into his stance, a crippling pain shooting through his side. He fell to one knee, cringing.

"Looks like I n'cked a c'ple of ribs there, _Swed'n_." Drovich tensed before rushing in front of Berwald, his sword raised high.

"Su-san!"

Drovich hesitated, losing his careful footing. Berwald leapt up, striking the man's head with a sickening crack and sending him reeling sideways. He slammed into the ground a few feet away. Another jolt of pain his Berwald, causing him to drop his staff. He looked over to the hill, where a terrified Tino stared back at him.

"Run, Tino!" He yelled. He glanced to where Drovich had fallen, only to realize he was gone. Fear shot through him as he glued his eyes back to Tino, an angry, bleeding Drovich towering behind him. "Tino!"

Tino sensed Drovich behind him a split second too late. A sharp, biting cold bit into his chest. He looked down, the end of Drovich's sword sticking from between his ribs, coated in blood. "Ah…Su-sa…"

Drovich ripped the blade out, smiling bitterly as Tino collapsed face first. He met Sweden's horrified eyes. "Oops. Looks like I k'lled y'r boyfr'nd there, boy-o."

* * *

Mathias tried to draw in a deep breath, choking up blood in the process. He stared down the man across from them. The man who'd called himself Lucaster. His cropped white hair and full white coat were now speckled with blood. _Their _blood. He glanced at Abel, who was suffering equally. The man had both pistols drawn, his concentration solely on the enemy. _Come on, buddy. Put your strategizing to use._

The man laughed, swinging his scythe around. "Is this really the best your Earth has to offer?" He laughed. "Every one of you is pathetically weak."

Mathias had no clue who the hell this man was supposed to be, though he'd figured out by this point he wasn't human. _A nation, definitely. Guess that whole 'parallel world' thing wasn't so crazy after all. _He gripped his axe, ready for another round. They _had_ to win. They had to. He hoped to God Emil and Lukas were all right. He'd sent them running off as soon as the man had appeared, intending to defeat him and catch up. Now he wasn't so sure. _At least…at least I'll be a distraction._

He caught Abel staring at him from the corner of his eyes. He nodded. He had a plan. He made a slight motion with one of his pistols, signaling for Mathias to attack. And attack he did. He flew at the man, axe blade meeting scythe. He lunged and swung and parried and dodged, a deadly dance of two equally deadly weapons. Mathias saw the man wasn't losing any attention on Abel though. _We'll see about that_.

He revved up his efforts, catching the man's shoulder with the edge of his axe. He let out a triumphant yell, only to have the man's scythe bite into his back. He screamed, going down to his knees. Shots rang out, and the scythe was torn from his back as the man dodged. Mathias looked up to see Abel running full speed, shooting both pistols. He stayed put, watching Abel move in a strange pattern. After a few moments, he caught on.

Ignoring the pain in his back, he followed Abel's lead, cutting off the man's attacks so Abel could work his magic. Eventually, they caught the man in a circle. They ran around him, attacking left and right. At Abel's signal, they both jumped back. Abel pulled out a detonator, and the man realized too late that small explosives had been dropped all around it. Abel pushed the button as the two of them leapt behind the hummer.

The explosion knocked them both to the ground, sending them scrambling as the car overturned again. "Damn!" Mathias yelled after the shockwave passed. "I wasn't expecting _that_ big of an explosion."

"Wanted to make sure we got him." Replied Abel, covering his head with his hands.

As the smoke cleared, the two of them hesitantly walked back around to the blast zone. The dust began to settle, and they both immediately realized.

"He's gone…"

* * *

His staff cracked the man's skull again and again and again. Drovich's sword was long gone, thrown several feet away. He struggled as each blow landed, trying to force Berwald's foot off his chest. Berwald brought his staff up, ready to end the man's life, only to find the man's bloodied mouth smiling back at him.

"How m'ny times m'st I tell you p'ple." He spat. "The sw'rd is not my only w'pon." He raised his left hand, a crystal on his wrist pulsing brightly.

Berwald blew backward, slamming into the ruined hummer. His staff went flying, bouncing off the ground nearly thirty feet away. Drovich rose, blood pouring down his face, and raised his hand again. He sword moved from the ground by itself, zipping back into his hand.

"Though it is my w'pon of choice." He _appeared_ in front of Berwald without making a single motion. "Time for you to go join y'r little boyfr'nd."

Berwald closed his eyes. _Tino…_

The blow never came. He opened his eyes again, meeting Drovich's stunned gaze, which quickly turned to rage. "Lucast'r! Damn you!" Then he was gone with a snap of his fingers.

Berwald trembled, his haggard body worn out. From across the field, he spotted Tino's limp form. He staggered toward it, his emotions shattering with each step. He fell to his knees in the mud, hoisting Tino's body into his arms. Dull violet eyes stared off at nothing. Berwald sat rigid, unsure of what to do, unsure of how to feel, unsure of…

A drop of water landed on Tino's dirt-stained face. A tear.

Berwald broke, sobs racking his injured chest. He hugged Tino's body closer to him, rocking back and forth. He whispered Tino's name over and over, willing him to wake up, willing him to say 'Su-san' one last time, willing him to do something. Anything. But he didn't. He was gone. Berwald had lost him. He'd lost…everything.

He cried until he had no energy left to do so. Numbed to the bone, he shrugged off his coat, wrapping it around Tino's body. Shaking hands pulled the lids over Tino's eyes for the last time.

Then he sat there with Tino's body. Unmoving. Uncaring.

* * *

"Mathias!" Emil ran up to them, a silent Lukas trudging behind them. Mr. Puffin landed beside them, looking haughty as usual. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. A few injuries, but I'll live."

Abel caught up to him, his eyes still searching for their enemy. They'd grabbed as much of their belongings as they could from the hummer before heading off in the direction Mathias had sent the other two. Abel had been sure the man was liable to reappear at any moment.

"He's gone, Abel. Let it go."

"How the hell did we lose him?" Abel barked, lighting up his pipe.

"No idea, but we're alive. And that's what matters. Until next time, when I beat the shit out of that white-haired freak!" He tightened his fingers around his axe.

Emil chuckled. "Same old. Same old. Anyway, we called for helped on a walkie-talkie. One of the escorts that escaped is coming to pick us up. He said there was a town about five minutes south via foot, so we should be able to make it there, right?"

"Yeah." Abel replied. "But we need to find Sweden and Finland first."

"Yeah, then we'll head to the town. Did either of you happen to see where their hummer went?"

Emil considered it, but it was Lukas that answered. "They didn't. Their hummer was flipped when the first bomb hit. They should still be on the road where the convoy was."

"Good, now where is that?" Mathias asked.

The Norwegian shook his head. "Follow me."

The four of them walked for several minutes before Emil spotted the overturned hummer in the distance. They rushed toward it, Mathias in the lead. He headed around the downed vehicle, catching sight of Berwald.

"O…" His words died on his lips as he got closer. _No, that can't be…_A motionless form was wrapped in Berwald's coat. _No. No. No._ Mathias felt his legs grow weak as sorrow ripped through him. "Tell me that's not…Tell me that's not…Tino."

Berwald tensed, saying nothing.

The others came around the car, grinding to a halt as they realized what had happened. Abel gaped, his mouth unable to form words. Emil and Lukas stood stunned.

"Berwald," Mathias began.

"I couldn't prot'ct him. I couldn't…" Berwald's voice hitched.

Mathias placed his hands on Berwald's shoulders, squeezing gently. "It's not your fault. It's not, Berwald."

"I pr'mised him…I swore I'd pro'tct…"

"Don't do this to yourself. Tino wouldn't want you to."

Berwald flinched from his touch, and Mathias stepped back as the man rose up, cradling Tino's body in his arms. He turned, fatigued and low-lidded eyes filled with agony and…something else. _A spark of vengeance?_ Mathias asked himself.

Emil coughed. "We're heading to a town not too far away, Berwald. The rest of the convoy is meeting us there."

Blue eyes hardened behind cracked glasses. "Lead the way."

* * *

**Dro: **Don't kill me! I swear there is happiness is in this story somewhere! On the other hand...Netherlands wielding double pistols for the win! Oh, and I know Sweden is often depicted with a pipe, but I thought a staff was cooler (aka, I've seen cool fanart of Sweden with a staff). Pipes are more a Russia thing for me.

**Next Chapter:** The other countries hear about Finland just as the Nordics arrive; the emotional states of several people come to light; Romano is confused by his feelings.


	5. A Glass Half Empty

**Dro:** Here we go with World Powers again, guys! I like this chapter, thought I like Chapter 6 even better. -smirks- So, enjoy! Here's a healthy dose of character development for you!

**Chapter Summary:** America and Canada both find themselves doubting their ability to win while Romano comes face to face with emotions he doesn't understand.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Same old "Don't own" as usual.

* * *

Matthew burst through the doors of the meeting room, startling everyone inside. Alfred leapt from his seat, reaching inside his coat for his gun before he realized who it was. Feliciano and Gilbert didn't rise, but Gilbert saw Feliciano tense, hand slipping toward the holster hidden by his long military coat.

"Matt, what's going on?" Alfred asked as he calmed down. The entire room had their eyes on Canada's lithe frame.

He tried to catch his breath. "The N—Nordic convoy…" Pain hampered his voice. When he'd heard just minutes ago about what happened, he'd almost lost it. "The Nordic convoy was attacked."

"By _them_?" Francis whispered, trying to get comfortable. His wound was nearly healed, but it was still bothering him.

Matthew nodded. "There were two of them this time. The man that calls himself 'Drovich' and another man named 'Lucaster.' The convoy was bombed en route, and the Nordics and Netherlands were split up and isolated. Then they attacked."

The silence in the room stifled them all. Feliciano gripped his pants leg, anger seeping back into him. More of his friends had been hurt. When would it stop? Gilbert noticed the agony in Feliciano's face and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Romano shifted, uncomfortable. How many more nations would end up victimized by these people? He lifted his gaze to see Antonio staring at him. They hadn't spoken to each other yet, but he knew the man would get him alone as soon as possible.

Alfred cleared his throat. "H—How are they?"

Matthew looked down at his feet, unable to meet their curious eyes. "Mostly, they're okay. Denmark and Sweden were injured, but they're fine. It's just…" His voice caught.

"Just what, Matt?"

He brought his hands to his mouth, taking a deep breath. "Finland is dead."

Alfred stumbled, falling back into his seat. His thoughts became jumbled. First Arthur had been kidnapped and Francis stabbed. Then he'd found out Germany was dead, and Gilbert and the Italy brothers were probably traumatized for life, not to mention some of their injuries were permanent. Now Finland was dead? Little innocent Finland? And he didn't even want to think about how Sweden was feeling right now. He leaned over to the table, putting his hands over his face.

Matthew sank into the seat next to his brother and gripped his shoulder. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Alfred."

Alfred laughed dryly. "I can't help it, Matt. I'm supposed to be the hero, and yet I'm sitting here while my friends get slaughtered. Who's next? The Asian countries are still trying to get here, so are Russia and his sisters. Who dies next, Matt? Katyusha? Kiku? Yao?"

"Don't think like that, Alfed. We _will_ stop these people." His voice came out steady, but his emotions were in turmoil. He wasn't sure anymore…wasn't sure they could actually beat these people.

"When will the Nordics be arriving?" Gilbert broke the silence in an attempt to drag everyone out of their moping.

"Um…I think I was told half an hour or so. They were past the last checkpoint when I heard the news."

Gilbert nodded. "Well, we should get ready for them, yeah? We have to debrief them. They need to debrief us. They need rooms prepared. All that."

"We can just get some of our people to do that, Gilbert." Antonio murmured.

"We could. Or we could try our best to comfort our friends, our allies, our _kin_."

All eyes focused on Gilbert for the briefest moment before agreeing. Francis stood. "They'll probably be hungry after a long trip. Let's cook them a decent meal. I've been getting tired of the chefs here anyway. Want to help me, you two?" He eyed Feliciano and Lovino.

Lovino looked to his brother, whose eyes were still downcast. He jumped when Feliciano spoke. "Of course. You coming, _fratello?_" Lovino stared. It was the first time Feliciano had called brother since…

"Of course I'm coming." The trio left the room quickly, and the rest of them started making preparations. When everyone except Alfred and Matthew had filed out, Alfred finally spoke again.

"What are we going to do, Matt?"

Matthew stuffed his papers back into his folder before looking at Alfred, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. These people are strong, Matt. They're nations, like us. They're stronger and faster than humans. They're hard to kill. And apparently they have some kind of magical abilities too. Worst of all, we don't know how many of them there are. What if they have sixty nations up in those airships, all waiting for the moment to pounce and annihilate us all? What do we do, Mattie?"

Matthew stood there stunned, the folder slipping out of his hands and spilling its contents on the floor. He'd never seen Alfred so…hopeless before. He marched up to and hugged him tightly. "Uh…Matt?" Matthew shushed him and hugged him harder. Alfred eventually released his tension and embraced him back.

"Keep yourself together, Al. I know it seems bad now, but we will beat these bastards. This is our world, remember? Not theirs. And they're not going to take it from us, are they, Alfred?" He released his brother and met now determined blue eyes.

"Damn straight they're not."

* * *

The smell wafting from the kitchen caught Antonio's attention. He peeked in and spotted Lovino chopping vegetables. Francis and Feliciano were at the stove stirring two different pots. He took a few steps into the kitchen, happy for once that they actually had it. He'd been a little disappointed to find that all the nations would be in such close quarters. They had their own—tiny—rooms, sure, but there were only three bathrooms among them, and there would only be three bathrooms even when all the countries had arrived. He shuddered at the idea of walking in on Russia in the morning.

"Can I help you, Antonio?" Lovino asked. The other two looked at him briefly before going back to work.

"Oh, no, it just smelled good." He stared at Lovino, trying to see if he was injured anywhere. He'd heard—of course, he'd seen too—about Gilbert and Feliciano's injuries, but he couldn't help but wonder if Lovino was hiding an injury too.

"It'll be done in an hour or so. We're making enough for everyone." Feliciano added. Antonio's heart ached at the tone in Feliciano's voice. It wasn't completely emotionless, but the lack of the happy-go-lucky nature in all of Feliciano's words and actions was just so…noticeable.

"All right then." He made to leave but paused. "Hey, Lovi. If you have time, can you stop by my room later? We haven't had a chance to talk in a while." He smiled.

Lovino glanced at him, a slight blush on his cheeks, and nodded. Antonio left, and Francis snickered. Lovino glared at him. "Shut up."

They finished dinner just on time and moved all the food to their shared dining room. Alfred and Matthew were already there, pale-faced and sorrowful. Francis coughed. "I suppose you've seen them?"

Alfred nodded. "They're pretty broken up. It's…bad."

Matthew sighed. "Just seeing Sweden like that…"

Lovino cleared his throat. "Are they coming to dinner?"

"I think so." Matthew answered. "They haven eaten since yesterday. They were rushed here."

"Let's set up the table then." Francis suggested.

Minutes later, people started filing in. Antonio came in first, followed by Roderich and Elizaveta, who had finally returned from their respective meetings with their bosses. Gilbert had been the one to tell them the news about Tino, and they were visibly upset. Gilbert stumbled in a few minutes later, a hint of alcohol on his breath. Just behind him was Abel in the same condition, his scarf askew and his hair noticeably flatter than usual. He'd taken a shower just before Gilbert had showed up, wiping off the grime from the battle with Lucaster.

Then the Nordics came. Mathias stomped in with Lukas hanging close to him, Emil shuffling in behind them. The entire room held their breath as Berwald came in last. He refused to meet anyone's eyes as he sat down. For a full minute, no one in the room moved. Berwald's eyes finally traveled upward, hard and cold. "Are we g'ng t' eat or wh't?"

Everyone moved, passing food around. The chatter was minimal, and everyone kept glances at the haggard Nordic countries. Mathias' usual arrogant cheer was subdued, though it was obvious he was trying his best to maintain it for the others' sakes. Emil was silent, and Lukas was even quieter than usual. Most of them picked at their food.

Matthew couldn't help but think it was the saddest excuse for a dinner he'd ever seen. And it was obvious everyone else thought the same thing. After a miserable hour of near complete silence, everyone dispersed again. Romano took the opportunity to go see Antonio, though he was slightly embarrassed about the whole thing. Gilbert snickered at him when he saw where he was heading.

"Can you just drop it, Gilbert?" He snapped.

Gilbert quieted, but he refused to wipe the grin from his face. Romano huffed and headed toward Antonio's room. He'd only knocked once when Antonio thrust the door open, a smile gracing his face.

"Hey, Lovi. Come on in."

* * *

Matthew was concerned. After dinner, he'd decided to take a walk. The air was cool tonight, and he wondered how bad things would start to get if they hadn't defeated their new enemies by winter. Would there be food shortages? Would people starve to death? Freeze to death? He shuddered at the prospect. He'd left his people back in Canada to come to Spain, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried about them. Briefly, he wondered if any of the airships were heading his way, and cringed at the thought of his biggest cities being bombed to the ground. He'd seen occasional looks of pain on Alfred and Francis' faces during the air raids.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted a figure in his periphery. He walked closer to it, realizing it was Abel. The man was hunched over, holding out one arm with the sleeve rolled up. Matthew's stomach dropped when he realized what Abel was doing. He watched in mesmerized horror as the man slid a needle into his arm, emptying the syringe of its clear contents. _God, the world is so fucked up now_. Sure, he'd heard rumors about the Netherlands using drugs, but actually watching Abel hurt himself this way…despite they fact they rarely saw each other, Matthew still considered the man to be his friend.

A thought struck him. If Abel's country was being attacked, then what kind of damage would hurting himself do? Matthew's anger spiked, and he marched up to Abel, who looked at him lazily and smiled. "Hey there, Mattie." He slurred.

"You…you…" He smacked him. Hard. "You idiot!"

Abel reeled backwards and fell down, laughing. "Problem, Matt?"

"You're the problem! What are you thinking, taking drugs while your country is being bombed?"

Abel sat up languidly and stared at him with glazed eyes. "It hurts, Mattie."

"What?"

"It hurts so bad."

"What hurts? What did you take?" Alarm raced through him. Had he overdosed?

Abel laughed, dry and painful. "I took morphine, Matt."

Matthew froze. Morphine? For…he'd taken morphine for the pain from the bombing. "Is it…it is really hurting you that bad, Abel? Bad enough that you need to drug yourself up like this?" He met Abel's eyes again, realizing the man was holding back tears.

"It hurts…so bad. My chest is always aching. Sometimes my arms and legs burn. Sometimes I think I might just burn to ashes like my cities, Mattie."

Sympathy rushed through Matthew's veins. He bent down and hoisted Abel on his feet, the man leaning on him for support. Abel had always been a brilliant strategist. He'd been headstrong and determined. He was the kind of guy who thought he could conquer the world. That was Matthew's image of him. Seeing him now, defeated like this, Matthew felt his hope for the world break in two.

"Come on, let's get you back to your room."

"Do you think we're all going to die, Matt?" Abel's unfocused eyes stared up at the stars.

Matthew remembered what he'd told to Alfred earlier. He'd been sure then, but now…after seeing Sweden and the Nordics, after seeing Abel like this… "I don't know, Abel. I just don't know."

* * *

Lips caressed his in a gentle kiss, and Lovino leaned into it, trying to excite his emotions. It wasn't the first time Antonio had kissed him, and he doubted it would be the last. An arm encircled his waist, pulling him closer. He draped his own arms around Antonio's neck, forcing himself further into the Spaniard's passion. Antonio was always gentle with his kisses, and Lovino appreciate his trepidation, especially considering the man's usual behavior.

But tonight, something was just…wrong. He wanted to get into it, he really did, but he couldn't. Antonio broke the kiss and trailed his lips across Lovino's jaw line. Lovino craned his neck to the side, allowing Antonio's lip to travel down it to his shoulder. The man's hands carefully unbuttoned his coat and shirt. Lips met the bridge between his neck and shoulders, teeth nipping at the skin.

"Stop." Lovino ordered.

A startled Antonio pulled back. "What's wrong?"

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I just can't get into it. It's probably just everything that's happened. Sorry, Antonio. Maybe another day, yeah?"

Antonio's disappointment was obvious, but he untangled himself from Lovino, sympathy in his eyes. "It's okay, Lovi. I understand."

Lovino sighed before pecking Antonio on the lips one last time. "See you later, all right?"

"Of course." He smiled.

The door burst open, revealing an annoyed Gilbert in the doorway. "Oi, Antonio…" He paused, seeing a still open-shirted Lovino and a far-too-close Antonio. "Oh." A light blush crossed his cheeks as he grinned. "Sorry about that. Didn't realize I was interrupting."

Lovino hurriedly buttoned up his shirt and rushed out the door, Gilbert's deep laugh following him down the hall. _That stupid potato bastard! I bet he'll have the entire base knowing about that tomorrow morning._ He stomped his way down the hallway, maneuvering around a construction sign. Some parts of the building were being rapidly restored. It was an old base that hadn't been used in quite a while. But it wasn't listed on any map, and it was fairly well camouflaged, so it served its purpose despite it lacking in some areas.

Lovino slowed to a walk, eying the construction with interest. A new layer of paint coated one wall, a sign in front of it warding off the curious and stupid. He walked on, seeing a newly refurbished room with furniture covered in sheets to keep it clean. He turned a corner to find the ceiling missing, pipes lining the hallway above him. He kept walking, the sound of something clinking catches his ears. Were they still doing construction this time of night?

He walked toward the sound, but found no one. Shrugging—and slightly creeped out—he turned to walk back the way he came. A loud grinding sounded off above him, and he looked in horror to see a massive pipe collapsing over him. He tried to move, but his brain was consumed with the image of the beams coming down on top of Germany, nearly crushing his brother. He stood there, watching as they neared him.

A force pushed him out the way, and he tumbled to the floor, a heavy weight on top of him. Dust choked his eyes as the pipe slammed to the ground, crushing the tiled floor. He coughed on the dust, as did the person above him. He opened his eyes to see his savior.

"Gilbert?"

A dirt-streaked face peered at him with concern, one red eye almost glowing in the dim light. "Are you all right?"

"Uh…" Lovino suddenly noticed how close they were, Gilbert's face hovering inches from his. He felt his face start to heat up. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine!" He pushed at Gilbert's chest, and the man rolled off of him. He breathed a sigh of relief, his heart pounding in his chest. _What's wrong with me?_

A hand came into sight as Gilbert stood up. He almost didn't take it, but his legs felt so wobbly…Gilbert pulled him up and looked him over for injuries. "I said I was fine."

"Just making sure. What the hell were you doing here anyway?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" Lovino beamed at him. "Were you following me?"

Gilbert coughed, refusing to meet his glare. "I just wanted to…you know…uh, apologize for walking in on you and Antonio. I seriously didn't think you were still in there."

Lovino's words of annoyance died on his lips. "Oh…well…" He hadn't been expecting an _apology_, especially from Gilbert. "That's fine. I'm not mad at you…anymore." He added at seeing Gilbert's raised eyebrows.

"Oh, well then. Let's head back to the area _not_ under construction." He eyed the massive pipe. "And we should probably tell someone about that. Because that was totally not awesome." Gilbert coughed and started walking away, a hint of embarrassment in his face.

Lovino shook his head quickly, trying to snap himself out of his daze. _What is going on with me?_ He looked at Gilbert's retreating form and bit his lip. Gilbert stopped and turned, beckoning him to follow. Lovino got a better look at him from this distance. Dirt covered his coat where he rolled over the floor. A bruise was starting to form on his cheek where it had hit the hard tile. His silver hair was askew and his eye patch was twisted up. Because he'd saved Lovino.

He followed.

* * *

**Dro:** I see development! And I'm starting to love Romano even more than I did before I started writing this fic. And boy, I can't wait until next chapter. It starts to get really exciting from this point on~.

**Next Chapter:** America asks Canada for a favor, and Romano discovers something startling about himself.


	6. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Dro:** It's the chapter like, half of you, have been waiting for!

**Chapter Summary:** America plots something with Canada while Romano discovers something startling about himself.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own APH. Never will.

* * *

Alfred stared out the window, his heart sinking with every second. He'd gotten the news only moments ago: the Asia convoy had been attacked. There was no word on who was hurt or…dead, but that didn't stop Alfred from imagining the worst case scenarios. He was getting frustrated. He was supposed to be the hero! He wasn't supposed to be sitting here and doing nothing while his friends were maimed and killed left and right.

But that's exactly what he was doing. His bosses were strategizing at the moment, and he'd been told to lie low. The nations themselves had an ample amount of control over their own goals and actions, but they _had_ to take their bosses orders into consideration. If they didn't, then their countries would become dysfunctional, and in situation like this, that was something that could not happen. If they lost control over their country, they'd be useless in battle against these people. He had to go with his boss on this one no matter how much he wanted to jump up, rally the troops, and go.

Then again…an idea wormed its way into his head. Besides the airship raids, the enemy was only targeting nations themselves, obviously trying to get them out of the way so they could stage a hostile takeover of the world. Their enemies _were_ nations, as far as they knew, and it was easy to tell their goal was probably to expand their countries. And with how strong they were, it was easy to tell that this probably wasn't the first world they'd done this too. The enemy nations needed to be taken out. Fast. But Alfred knew his bosses were barely thinking about the nations. They'd been told, of course, but it seemed to Alfred that they were blowing off that fact.

He wouldn't. He rose from his chair, determined, and headed to the hallway. He passed a moping Francis, and his heart began to ache. _Arthur…_He'd been thinking about the man on and off for the past few days, wondering if he was even still alive. England itself hadn't started collapsing yet, so he'd assumed Arthur was fine, but there was always the chance that he was being tortured, always the chance he was slowly wasting away…Alfred shook his head, trying to clear his mind before the thoughts consumed him. He needed to concentrate on one thing at a time.

When he reached his destination, he knocked, hoping to catch the person he needed alone. The door opened to reveal a sleepy Matthew, who'd obviously been napping if his hair was any indication.

"Al? What's up?"

Alfred pushed past him and closed the door, locking it. Matthew shot him a look that meant 'I know you're up to something now.' Which he was, and he needed privacy for. "Don't look at me like that. This is important."

"What is it?" Matthew smoothed out his tousled hair, his tone becoming serious.

"I have a favor I need to ask of you." When he was done explaining, the horror on Matthew's face was obvious. But Alfred talked him into it, using skills of persuasion he'd learned over the years to influence his bosses. By the end of their conversation, Matt seemed almost…excited at the prospect, and Alfred gave him a brief hug, thanking him for offering his help. "You won't regret this, Matt."

"I better not." Matthew grabbed his arm. "Just remember, if I die, I'm coming back to haunt you."

Alfred smirked. "My own personal horror movie!"

Matthew rolled his eyes and kicked his brother out of the room. He'd let Al talk him into this, but that didn't mean he wasn't taking precautions or that he wasn't worried. He was also out of practice for something like this. He glanced at his closet. _Guess I should see if I still have skills or not. _

Alfred spent the rest of the evening visiting his fellow nations, checking up on their various states. Most were fine…well, as fine as one could be in a impending apocalyptic situation. He could see that most of them were aching all over, just like he was. He could feel every bomb, every death, pounding at his chest. He tried to ignore it as best as he could, but it was still taking its toll on him. He passed by the kitchen, spotting Italy and Romano at the table. He didn't know either brother very well, but he knew them enough to spot the drastic changes that had taken place.

Romano had quieted, and while he still had bursts of his usual personality, it was subdued. Right now he sat quietly slicing tomatoes, working diligently without a hint of annoyance or irritation. Italy, on the other hand, had changed even more. The pasta-loving carefree airhead that everyone knew and loved had been replaced by a serious and determined young man with a sour disposition. His hands worked quickly with the gun in front of him, polishing and assembling it in a very short amount of time.

Even seeing Italy with a gun was a shock to Alfred. He'd heard that Gilbert had been practicing and training with Italy, teaching him things he probably should've learned long ago, but still…it was like he was looking at a completely different person. He wondered how much Italy had actually broken, actually lost of himself, and how much he'd just subdued himself with negative emotions. He hoped the real Italy was still in there somewhere, hiding away until this ordeal was over with.

"Hey, guys!" He plastered a smile on his face.

The brothers looked up at him, Italy's still bandaged face scrunching up in annoyance. Romano looked distracted but answered anyway. "Hey, Alfred. What's going on?"

"Just checking up on everyone. You two doing okay?"

Romano nodded. "Better than yesterday, I suppose." All three were faced with the memory of the disastrous dinner with the Nordics.

Alfred grimaced. He still couldn't bring himself to speak to Sweden. He'd talked to the rest of the Nordics today, hearing renditions of their ordeal with the enemy. But Sweden…he wasn't sure he couldn't even bring the subject up. The man looked ready to break his neck at the mention of it.

"I guess that's the same for everyone, huh?"

Romano nodded. Italy had already gone back to cleaning his gun. Alfred contemplated for a minute before asking. "How's training with Gilbert going, Feliciano?"

Italy tensed at the use of his name, flicking his eyes up to meet Alfred's. Hints of irritation, confusion, and indecision swirled within them. "It's…going well, I guess. I knocked him off his feet and pinned him down this morning."

Romano stared open-mouthed at his brother, obviously not expecting him to respond. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. "Awesome!"

The tiniest fraction of a smirk caught the corner of Feliciano's lips. "Well, Gilbert certainly isn't today."

Romano's eyes widened further as Alfred chuckled. The older Italy flicked his eyes between them, questioning. Alfred gave a small shrug, unsure as to why the younger brother was actually opening up with him. Before he could voice his question, however, Francis stomped into the kitchen, ruining the mood. The sprinkle of mirth in Italy's face vanished, and he went back to stoically cleaning his gun. Romano's excitement plummeted, and his annoyance at the French nation rose a hundred fold.

"What do you want, Francis?" He snapped.

Francis glanced at them all, confused. "I just wanted to get something to drink." He opened the fridge and pulled a bottle of soda. "My _apologies_ for interrupting you."

Alfred could feel the anger rolling off of Francis. The man's attitude had been going south since he'd recovered from his stab wounds, and Alfred knew the man's emotional state was steadily deteriorating. He supposed on some level it had to do with Francis losing Arthur. He'd been there and couldn't do anything. He'd watched his long time friend get kidnapped while he bled helplessly on the ground. On some level, Alfred knew, Francis blamed himself for letting Arthur get kidnapped. And now he was letting that idea drag him down.

The three of them stared as Francis left the room, taking the cold atmosphere with him. Romano sighed, wondering if he'd lost his chance to see a recovering Feliciano today. Alfred clenched his eyes shut. He couldn't stand watching his friends degrade this way. He needed to talk to Francis before the man fell too far to bounce back.

"I'll see you two, later, okay?"

Feliciano made eye contact. "Okay." The cold voice he'd had since Alfred had first seen him at the base dissipated, leaving a much warmer tone in its wake. Alfred left the kitchen to a gaping and confused Romano and an Italy who'd reformed a piece of his old self.

* * *

Lovino twirled the knife around in his fingers, replaying his memory of Feliciano's behavior in the kitchen earlier. He'd been shocked to see Feliciano act that way around America (of all people), but now he was starting to wonder if someone so happy-go-lucky like America wasn't exactly what Feliciano needed. Lovino would do anything to see his _fratello_ get better, even if that meant letting him hang out with the hamburger bastard.

He plucked a tomato slice up and tossed it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he remembered what his brother was like not even two weeks ago. He still felt like he was watching a different person now, like his real _fratello_ had vanished and a look alike had taken his place. _I'd give anything to have the old Feliciano back…anything at all…_

The knife slipped out of his fingers. He yelped as the blade tumbled towards his unprotected feet. He reached down to grab it, missing it by inches, and willed the damn thing to please fucking stop before it cut his fucking foot open and…

It stopped.

In midair.

By itself.

Lovino stared at the floating knife. Then his outstretched hand. Then the floating knife. Then his outstretched hand. And back and forth. And back and forth. And…

"There is no way…"

He tentatively raised his hand, nearly having a stroke as the blade rose with it. He reached out with his other hand and grabbed the handle, pulling it from the mysterious force. _I'm imagining this._ _I'm dreaming._ He rolled the knife around in his hands, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He glanced at his door to make sure it was locked. _I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be doing this. I'm crazy._

He tossed the knife across the room, watching as it bounced off the floor and slid across the wood. Coughing, he raised his hand and turned in palm up. He took a breath. _This is so not going to work_. Concentrating on the knife, he flicked his fingers inward, beckoning the knife to move.

It shot up and flew at his face like a bullet. He screamed, putting his hands in front of his face to protect himself. After a few seconds of no pain, he lowered his hands to find the knife floating in front of his face, the blade mere inches from him. He slouched back in his chair, a hysterical laugh coming over him.

"_Dio."_ He whispered.

He raised a hand, catching sight of a dim purple spark at his fingertips. He pointed a single finger and moved it in a circle, watching as the knife mimicked his movements. He was fascinated by it. The very idea of inanimate objects bending to his will was ludicrous. Watching it happen in real life made him wonder if he was hallucinating. He reached out and touched the end of blade, yelping as it bit into his fingers. _No, not a hallucination!_ The blade clattered to the floor as he lost his concentration, but he had it up in the air again in seconds, using his other hand while he sucked on his cut finger.

Lovino spent the next fifteen minutes enthralled, mesmerized by the movements of the knife. He wondered if there was a limit to his newfound ability. He grabbed the knife and stabbed it into his windowsill, looking for something heavier. He spotted one of Feliciano's newly acquired handguns sitting on bedside table. _Hmm…I wonder…_ He concentrated on it, watching as it rose from its place on the nightstand. He brought it toward him, rotating it so it face the opposite wall. He raised his uninjured hand again and made a pulling motion, watching as the gun cocked itself.

"I can shoot guns with my mind!"

The gun went off, blasting a hole in the wall. Lovino tumbled out of his chair, startled at the sound that assaulted his eardrums. He scrambled up to his feet, shaken, and got a mental hold on the gun again before it hit the ground. He stood shaking, a dry laugh racking his throat.

"Holy shit. I have magical powers."

He froze at the sound of footsteps barreling down the hallway. He broke from his stance and ran up, grabbing the gun just as Gilbert and Antonio burst through the door, breaking the lock clear off. The two of them stared in confusion, looking from Lovino to the obvious hole in the wall.

"What the hell?" Gilbert asked.

"Uh…it was an accident." Lovino answered lamely.

"What were you trying to do, Lovi?" Antonio's eyes locked onto him in disbelief.

"I was just…aiming with it. Playing around. I didn't know it was loaded. Sorry." He whimpered. _I should tell them, right?_ A voice in his head screamed 'No!' It rationalized with him, telling him they wouldn't want him to use the power because they wouldn't understand it. Lovino didn't understand it either, but he wanted to. _I've been so weak all my life. But with something like this…power or whatever…maybe I can actually be useful. Maybe I can use this to save people. To beat those sky bastards down. _

He could see from their looks that they were both skeptical, but neither of them called him out on it. _I'll tell them later. After I understand it more._ He promised it to himself. "I'm really sorry. I'll fix that." He nodded to the wall.

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you volunteer to clean up your messes?"

Lovino stared at him, a pang in his chest. _Is that what he thinks of me?_ Lovino wondered if he'd really been that irresponsible all his life. He looked up to see Gilbert elbow Antonio, sending the Spaniard a harsh glare. "It's okay, kiddo. We'll just call maintenance. Don't worry about it."

"You sure?" Why was Gilbert defending him? They weren't exactly on the best of terms. The incident in the construction hallway flashed into his mind, and he found himself blushing. Gilbert _had_ been becoming more protective over him and Feliciano lately. He understood the Feliciano part of that. His _fratello_ needed a replacement for Ludwig, no matter how much he denied it. What Lovino didn't get was Gilbert's changing attitude toward _him_. He'd disliked the man's brother, and the man's brother had disliked him, so why…?

He caught Antonio staring at them, the man's gaze shifting from him to Gilbert. _Oh boy…_"Hey, guys, isn't it about time for dinner?" He glanced at the clock, hoping he was right, and let out a silent breath. He was.

"Oh, yeah. I'm starving." Gilbert patted Antonio on the shoulder. "Let's see what's on the menu for tonight. Hopefully something filling like last night's pasta. Thought I doubt it'll be quite as good without Francis and you two cooking."

Lovino shrugged. "I'm sure it'll be fine." Lovino briskly walked back to Feliciano's night stand and dropped the gun on it before following Gilbert and Antonio out. He felt Antonio's eyes on him the entire way to the kitchen, and he found it rather unnerving. _I don't know what he's thinking exactly, but it's probably completely wrong._ He sighed inwardly. Why did life have to keep becoming more complicated?

* * *

**Dro:** There you have it! Romano has magical powers now!

**Next Chapter:** We take a break from Romano and Prussia Land for all out combat between a myriad of characters! And Russia finally makes his grand entrance!


	7. The Prince and the Pauper

**Dro:** Yay, it's battle time!

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred's plan goes into full swing, and then, of course, awry. Good thing Russia and Japan are there to save the day.

**Warnings:** Language, Violence

**Disclaimer:** The usual 'don't own APH'.

* * *

Alfred glanced at the clock, the second hand ticking slowly back around again. If everything was going according to plan, Matt would already have left the base earlier in the morning. They needed to avoid any suspicion for their plan to work, so he'd decided it would be best if they left at different times. Five minutes more and he'd follow his brother. He checked his gun once more, hands steady despite the task he'd set for himself. This was by far the most dangerous thing he'd ever done, and if word got out about it, it would have the heftiest consequences.

_Time to go._ He hid his gun away in his coat and headed out, smiling normally as he passed people in the hallway. The guards at the door nodded as he went by. Alfred smiled ruefully to himself. Most of the people on the base still didn't know about the nations. The morning was cool despite the time of year. Alfred took in a cool breath and walked briskly toward the garage, pulling a set of keys he'd stolen the day prior from his pocket.

The guard at the garage door eyed him suspiciously until he produced a stamped piece of paper from his pocket. Nodding, the man let him by. _Faking documents. I'm so going to get in trouble for this._ He hopped into one of the army vehicles and started it up, trying to get himself comfortable. _Just keep calm, Al._ His started moving the jeep slowly at first but picked up speed as he headed for the base gates. He rounded a corner where no guards were on patrol and stopped, whistling three times.

From the lessening darkness, Alfred spotted a shape hop up from behind a trash bin and rush toward the car. The form jumped into the back of the jeep and covered itself with a tarp. Alfred started going again and didn't stop he pulled up to the gate and showed the men his paper. They scrutinized it for several seconds, but the man handed it back to him, signaling for the other guard to open the gate.

As soon as he was out of the gate and on the road away from the base, Alfred let out a deep sigh of relief. "You can get up now, Matt."

Matthew threw the tarp off, nervousness clearly still running through him. "We're going to get grilled for this when we get back." Realizing what he said, he bit his lip. "_If_ we get back."

"We're not going to die, Matt." Alfred rolled his eyes, but he was unsure of himself. Dying _was_ a possibility.

Matthew crawled over to the front seat, dropping the large case he'd had strapped to his back behind him where he'd hidden. "You're sure your information is correct now? One of them _was_ spotted in Barcelona yesterday, right?"

"Yes. Definitely. There was a security camera picture and everything. He's definitely there. And seeing as they have a penchant for finding us, I doubt it will be too hard to draw him out."

Matthew sighed. He shouldn't have agreed to this and he knew it. But if he hadn't, who's to say Alfred wouldn't have tried it by himself?

Alfred noticed his brother's uneasiness and put a hand on his shoulder. "No worries, Matt. We can do this. You've got the hero on your side, remember?"

Matthew just rolled his eyes, keeping silent. The drive to Barcelona was about two hours, and by the time arrived, the day was already in full swing. The city appeared in the distance as they drove toward it. The first thing that was visible was the smoke. The second thing was the ruins. Amazingly, some of the city was still intact, but a large portion of it had been razed away by bombs and fire. A dull ache settled in Matthew's chest. _Is that what my cities will look like soon?_

He looked up toward the sky, noticing something dark hovering behind the clouds. He jumped. "Al, there's an airship!"

Alfred looked up, spotting the massive ship as it came into view. Black and gold painted with giant propellers, though no doubt it was powered by something beyond their understanding. It took up a large portion of the sky above Barcelona, threatening to bring the rest of the city tumbling to the ground.

Matthew's nerves were on edge now. It was unlikely that there was only one of _them_ on the airship. They still didn't have any estimates on the enemy's forces. Besides the amount of planes they had used to combat Earth's fighter jets, there had been no other way to see how many people were actually aboard the airships. The numbers could be staggering. They could have an army in the millions for all anyone knew. There were certainly enough ships to hint at that many. Matthew found it odd that their only attacks thus far had been air bombings. Why no use of ground troops?

Alfred wound around destroyed vehicles and drove further into the city. He had no doubt the enemy would've spotted them by this point. He pulled to a stop next to a parking garage that was still standing. "I'm going to park in there to hide the jeep, okay?"

Matthew nodded as he got out of the jeep and grabbed his case. "I'll go set up." He started at a run toward some of the more stable-looking buildings, glancing up every now then at the looming airship.

Alfred turned off the jeep and stuffed the keys in the glove box. He didn't want to lose them in the middle of battle. He followed the direction that Matt had gone, walking at a leisurely pace. He stopped next to some sort of warehouse, leaning against a wall with graffiti on it, and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there before the distinct sound of footsteps caught his attention. He cracked open an eye and looked to his right, a dark-haired man with a white coat standing about ten feet from him.

"You're eith'r incr'dibly bold or incr'dibly st'pid." The man reached his sword, unsheathing it slowly.

"I take it you're Drovich, right?"

The man smirked. "So you've heard of me, th'n?

"Much." Alfred pushed himself off the wall and turned to face Drovich.

"And what? You thought you'd c'me and k'll me?"

"Something like that." Alfred braced himself, knowing the man would move any second.

"St'pid boy." Drovich took off, appearing in front of Alfred before he could blink. Alfred dodged the sword blow by blow, memorizing the way Dovich moved. _We can take this guy. I know it._ He jumped back, raising his fists. Drovich's look of confusion put Alfred in a great position. Drovich braced himself for a counterattack, but Alfred moved left at the last second, sending his fist into the flimsy concrete wall.

A huge slab of concrete collapsed on top of Dovich, who moved at the last second. The stoned slammed into the man's shoulder, earning a sharp hiss. He jumped backward, using his magic to appear several feet back.

"You…such str'ngth. And I was und'r the impr'ssion all of you were weak."

Alfred grinned. "Think again." He took off, running at Drovich full speed. Drovich dodged his punches, but he couldn't manage a counterstrike. Annoyed, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers, sending a pulse of energy toward Alfred. It hit Alfred in the chest, sending him though the hole he'd put in the wall. Alfred flipped himself back over and ran outside, lunging at Drovich.

Drovich wasn't taking any more chances. He sent his energy into the sword, the blade sparking. He struck out at Alfred, who dodged. Alfred's arm suddenly stung, and he looked down to see a shallow gash. _But…it didn't hit me!_ He stumbled backward, dodging another blow. Or so he thought. Blood started gushing from his shoulder. _Shit! He's using some kind of spell or something!_ He spotted the fluctuating field around Drovich's blade that extended nearly half a foot outward. _If I can't get out range, he'll hit me every time._

He dashed further into the street. _Time to get some help._ Drovich followed him step for step. He turned to face the man, sending as many punches and kicks at him as he could manage. Drovich dodged them all, one of the kicks grazing the man's glasses and sending them flying from his face. Irritated, he struck Alfred's knee with his sword, knocking the boy off balance.

Alfred yelped as he hit the ground, pain shooting through his leg. He pushed himself off the ground just in time to see Drovich's sword coming straight for his face. _Matt!_

Drovich's knee exploded into blood. He screamed, reeling backward and landing on his back. He dropped his sword and grabbed his mutilated kneecap. _How…?_ He looked to his right. Down the road, up five stories, and set up on the roof, he spotted the boy.

Matthew, over 2,000 meters away, grinned in victory as he looked up from his scope. _Record holding sniper. Take that, you bastard! _He glanced back into his scope to see Alfred up on his feet again, pulling his gun from his coat and aiming it at Drovich. _Yes! We win!_ Now all they had to do was tie him up and drag him back to base. Alfred walked closer to Drovich, his gun never leaving sight of its target.

Matthew was a second away from pulling back when he saw it: a second man appeared behind Alfred, a scythe raised high and swinging down. Matthew screamed at the top of lungs.

Alfred jumped, hearing Matt screaming his name. Then he sensed it. He ducked and leapt to the left, just dodging the massive scythe blade that cut through the air right where his head had been. He tumbled to the ground, his gun sliding away from him. Alfred staggered to his feet, horror filling him. _This guy…_he remembered Denmark's story about the man with the white hair and scythe.

"You…Lucaster, right?"

The man grinned. "And you are the one called America?"

"That's right." _This is really bad._ Alfred backed up a few steps. It had taken Denmark _and_ Netherlands to even scratch this guy, and he'd disappeared before they could even hope to actually defeat him.

"You are afraid of me. Wise choice." He swung the massive scythe around, letting it come to rest on his shoulder.

"Tch, I'm not afraid of anything, especially you."

Lucaster frowned. "You are an impudent child, aren't you?"

"I'm _not_ a child."

"You are to me, boy."

A shot rang out, followed by the clink of a bullet on metal, the metal of Lucaster's scythe. Lucaster glanced at Matthew's place on the roof, annoyed. "Drovich, take the sniper boy out, will you? I need to have a _discussion_ with little America here."

Drovich heaved himself to his feet, putting all his weight on one leg. "My pl'sure." He snapped his fingers and vanished, Alfred realizing with horror he was teleporting to Matt.

Matthew realized it too. He pulled his rifle off the ledge and swung around just as Drovich's sword came down on him. Metal grated on metal. He was forced backward, nearly stumbling over. Even with only one properly working leg, Drovich was a force to be reckoned with. _These nations…how're they so strong?_

Matthew dodged as another blow came his way. Before he could move, Drovich's magic-powered fist came up and punched him the gut. He flew backward, almost falling right over the edge of the roof. All his breath left him, and he coughed for air, gripping his searing stomach. He tried to bring himself back up but doubled over in pain.

A fist grabbed his hair and heaved him up, a cry breaking free from his lips. He cracked open his eyes to see Drovich standing over him, sword raised and pointing at his chest, mere inches from his beating heart.

"You l'ttle br't. How d're you shoot me l'ke th't." He tensed hand, thrusting the sword forward.

Matthew closed his eyes, waiting for the pain. It never came. He snapped his eyes open as Drovich's hand was torn free from his hair, the man barreling into the concrete of the outside of the stairwell. Matthew gaped in awe at the man's crumpled form before looking at his savior.

"I—Ivan?"

The Russian looked down at him, mild concern on his face. "Hello, Comrade Matvey."

* * *

Alfred dodged again, his breath heavy. Several lacerations dotted his arms and chest, his trademark jacket was in tatters. He retreated, desperately looking for anything that could help him. Then he spotted the overturned van. He dashed toward, hearing Lucaster following him close behind. He leapt over the car and landed on the other side, wrapped his arms around the van's roof and gripping by through the broken windows.

"What're doing, boy? Hiding isn't going to help you."

Alfred heaved the van into the air, smirking as he saw the shock on Lucaster's face. "Who's hiding?" He threw it, the van soaring through the air straight at the man. Lucaster dropped, the van missing him by inches before it crashed to the ground in a cacophony of metal grating on the concrete of the sidewalk before it slammed into a building.

Then Alfred was on him, swinging left and right and kicking for his weak points. Lucaster dodged him but didn't retaliate, interest whirring through the cogs in his brain. _This boy is abnormally strong for a standard nation. Even with some of the sizes of this world's nations, he shouldn't be quite this strong._ His hand shot out and caught Alfred's fist, swinging the stunned boy and forcing him into the wall so hard it cracked behind him.

Alfred coughed, breathless, as he felt his ribs cracking under the force of the blow. His legs gave out on him. Lucaster's hand shot out and grabbed his neck, holding him up. Alfred struggled to breathe, and he clawed at the man's hand to no avail. Lucaster watched the boy struggle, smirking. Alfred's vision began to go, his body losing its grasp on consciousness. _Shit. This isn't good_.

"You interest me, boy. I think I'll take you back to meet the boss." He couldn't help but think this boy could be of use to them. It _was _standard practice to make an _offer_ to the strongest nation they came across in their escapades. How else would they rack up the power to conquer so many worlds?

Alfred's stomach dropped. _What? Interest? What the hell does that mean?_ _Shit. Got to get free. Got to…Got to…Shit…_The world around him went black.

Lucaster hoisted the motionless boy over his shoulder, wondering if Drovich had completed his task. _Cocky brat, Drovich. Too rash. Always getting himself hurt._ He scoffed. He turned to see a distinct lack of action on the rooftop where the sniper boy had been. _So he's either won or gotten himself killed._

"Put him down."

Lucaster paused at the voice. He turned around to see a dark-haired boy with a sword. "And you are…?"

"I am Japan. Now put Alfred-san down or I will attack you."

Lucaster rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."

* * *

**Dro:** Sorry I couldn't fit the entire battle scene in this chapter. I got to 2.5k and realized I'd made it too long for one chapter. So the last, like, third of it is in the next chapter.

**Next Chapter:** The battle concludes with an appearance from another foreign nation as well as interference by the one and only China!


	8. Broken Bones and Shattered Dreams

**Dro:** Hey, it's time for World Powers again!

**Chapter Summary:** Russia, China, and Japan face off against the enemy to save America and Canada.

**Warnings:** Language, Violence

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH

* * *

Matthew watched as Ivan walked up to the limp Drovich, anger pouring from his violet eyes. He grabbed the man by his coat and heaved him off the ground, revealing a face bloodied from the impact.

"You burned my cities to the ground." Ivan accused.

Drovich smiled. "So we did." He spit a glob of blood at Ivan's face.

Ivan threw him, sending the man hurling across the rooftop. He landed with a dull thud and didn't get back up. Ivan stomped toward him, heavy steps vibrating through the concrete. Matthew stared in horror as Ivan flipped the man over and punched him the face. Again. And Again. And Again. The concrete under Drovich's head started cracking.

Matthew jumped up, almost fainting from the pain in his stomach, and scrambled over to Ivan. He grabbed Ivan's first before he could bring it down again, screaming at him to stop as he lost his balance and fell over. Ivan caught him, lowering him gently to the ground. Their eyes met, the fury in Ivan's eyes melting away into subdued anger. Matthew sighed.

"My apologies, Matvey." He glanced at the unconscious Drovich. "I've just been waiting for that for too long."

Matthew nodded, understanding. He also burned to beat one of those bastards up, just wanting to hit and shoot and stab until they were no more. But he'd suppressed that desire before it pent up in his muscles. Ivan had apparently let it run rampant.

Ivan offered a hand to Matthew. "Can you stand?"

Matthew took the hand and tried to pull himself up, but he doubled over from the pain again. Drovich's punch had done major internal damage. Matthew was starting to feel faint again. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't. He nailed me in the gut. I think I'm bleeding internally."

Ivan's eyebrows shot up. "We should get you medical care then, da?" Ivan bent down and lifted Matthew into his arms.

"Ah!" Matthew felt his face flush. This was embarrassing. "You don't have to carry me like this! Really!"

"Nonsense. This is easiest and has least risk of causing you more pain. Practical, da?"

Matthew tried to hide his blush. "I guess…" He spotted his gun lying a few feet away. "Ah, Ivan, can you grab my rifle?"

"Hmm? Oh, da." Ivan made his way over to it and bent down, letting Matthew pick the rifle up. He let it sit in his lap. "Ready to go now? We'll tell someone to come pick this bastard up, da?" He glanced sourly at Drovich.

"Yeah. Al is down on the street fighting another one of them. He might need help."

"No worries, Matvey. I didn't come here alone." He grinned.

"You shouldn't have come up here alone either." A high-pitched voice stopped them in their tracks.

Ivan turned to see a young woman—more of a teenage girl, really—sitting on top of the stairwell's outer structure, right above where he'd kicked Drovich into the wall. She wore the same uniform, white coat, dark pants, and twirled her red-haired braid around in her fingers. At were waist were two guns, imposing.

She clicked with her tongue. "You really did a number on little Drovich, didn't you? His pretty face looks all messed up now." She pouted and stood up.

Ivan backed up and put Matthew down. "Stay here. Use your gun to protect yourself. I do not know how strong she is."

"A lot stronger than Drovich, unfortunately for you." She smiled, deceivingly innocent. Not bothering with the guns, she jumped from the roof and aimed a flying kick right at Ivan's head. He dodged, watching as her foot hit the concrete, blasting a hole through the roof. Concrete tumbled downward to the floor below.

Ivan tried to keep his cool. _So much strength in such a small body._ He blinked and she was gone. "Where…?" She appeared in front of Matthew, who gasped. The girl's teleportation was much more refined than Drovich's. Her movements were smooth, calculated, lacking Drovich's sharp, rough angles, and yet she was still faster than his eyes could see. She grabbed his chin.

"You're a cutie too, you know that?" Her eyes darkened, losing the innocent sparkle. "Maybe I should mess your face up." Her nails bit into his cheeks.

He cried out as Ivan came barreling at them. She dodged without breaking her form, blinking lazily at Ivan as she stood up and teleported backward, standing over Drovich's immobile body. She stuck out her tongue. "You guys are really weak. No fun at all!" She picked up Drovich like he was a feather and pouted again. "You should get stronger. Then we can have a fun fight." She smiled again, plastering the innocent façade back on her face. Then she was gone, leaving a stunned Ivan and Matthew alone on the roof.

"T—that was t—the most t—terrifying thing I've ever seen." Matthew stammered out. It was like one of creepy children's dolls come to life. He shuddered at the thought.

Ivan's mind had blanked, and the only word he could muster was "Da…"

* * *

Lucaster was starting to get annoyed now. The boy called Japan had started swinging his damned sword around at him, and then _another_ boy had jumped from the roof, flinging a myriad of blades at him. China, apparently. He recognized their names from the map he'd procured of their world, but he only had a vague idea of who they were.

He dodged the sword again, backing up. America bobbed in his grasp, threatening to fall. Lucaster sighed. These nations were quite persistent that he let their friend go.

"You will put America down now, aru!" Another knife appeared from his sleeve. "Or I will attack!"

"You've already attacked me." Lucaster retorted.

"Well, I'll attack again, aru!"

"You act suspiciously like a child." Lucaster raised an eyebrow. These two weren't really much of a challenge. They lacked America's strength. They were pretty fast, however. But not fast enough to pose a significant threat to him.

"I am no child, aru! I am over 4,000 years old!"

4,000? Lucaster questioned that mentally. The other nations ran at him again, but his handicap was theirs too. He couldn't fight as well with his scythe one-handed, but they couldn't attack his left side without risking their friend. He blocked the Japan boy's blade with his scythe, dodging the other boy's knife in the process. He kicked out, making contact with the boy's ribs and sending him backwards. He pushed his scythe outward, knocking the Japan boy off balance.

"I'm getting tired of you now." A flicker of his senses told him Siphone had arrived. _Guess that means Drovich lost again._ He glanced up at the rooftop, watching a man he didn't recognize dodge Siphone's lithe form. _Ah, well that explains that._ How many of these damned nations were lying in wait for them? He'd been sure there'd only been two in the city when this had all started.

They swung. He dodged. He swung. They dodged. The fight went on for fifteen minutes. Neither of them was really getting anywhere. _This is a pointless fight._ The odd duo needed to be taken out, of course, but he would have trouble with that with the America boy over his shoulder. _Hmm, I'll come back later._ He jumped backward, landing a safe distance away so he could gather up the energy to teleport.

Kiku realized in horror what he was about to do. "Yao, he's going to teleport! We need to get Alfred off him." They dashed at him as fast as they could, knowing they'd never make it in time.

Lucaster raised his hand to snap, the crystal on his necklace glowing against his chest. A shot rang out, burying itself in his thigh. He cried out, dropping the America boy. He looked to his left, seeing the sniper boy and the tall man from the roof. The sniper boy had shot at him again. They were all converging on him. He glanced at the unconscious American, knowing he'd never be able to grab him and teleport fast enough. _Damn them._ He snapped his fingers, disappearing in a flare of sparks.

"Al? Alfred!" Matthew clutched his aching stomach and shook Alfred at the same time. He eyed the marks on his brother's neck, narrowing his eyes in pain. "Somebody check his breathing!"

Yao bent down and checked Alfred's pulse. "I believe he is fine, aru. It seems the man only held his neck until he passed out. I'm sure he'll wake up soon."

Matthew sighed. Alfred's plan had gone horribly askew, just like he'd feared it would.

"Now, would you mind enlightening us as to why you two were out here?" Kiku looked down at him, condescending.

"Alfred wanted to capture one of them for information."

"And you decided to do this by yourself, aru?"

"It was dumb, I know. But if I hadn't agreed, I was afraid Alfred would've tried it by himself."

"Alfred isn't _that_ stupid, aru!"

"I don't know…" Ivan piped up.

"Oh shut up, Ivan!" Yao snapped.

"We all need to leave here immediately." Kiku glanced up at the airship. "They could come back with reinforcements any minute now."

"He's right, aru!"

"Wait…" Matthew started. "How did you guys know where we were?"

Ivan picked him up again, speaking in a hushed tone. "We were in a convoy heading toward the base when we picked up a lone vehicle on our radar. We stopped and headed this way and spotted you with binoculars, so the three of us left the convoy and headed out here on foot while my sisters and the other Asian countries continued on. Good thing we stopped, da?"

"Yeah." Matthew mumbled.

"Now, how do we get out of here? Where did you park the jeep you were in?" Kiku asked.

"Just follow my directions." He led them back to the parking garage, Kiku and Yao both supporting the unconscious Alfred.

They all filed into the jeep, Kiku driving. "I am assuming you know how to get back to base?"

"Yes, I'll lead you t—" Matthew doubled over, violently spewing up blood. The jeep went silent. Matthew stared, horrified. "Ah…" Blood dribbled down his chin, pain spiking in his stomach.

"Japan, step on it." Ivan ordered.

Matthew somehow managed to get out all the directions, his stomach on fire. He wondered briefly if his stomach had ruptured, sending the acid into his other organs. He felt sick. That would mean a terrible and painful death. As they pulled back toward the gate, the guards stopped them before realizing who they were.

A myriad of other countries and base personnel met them at the entrance to the building, and Matthew was rushed onto a gurney and into surgery before he knew what hit him. His vision wavered in and out, and by the time they got the anesthetic in him, he was already nearly unconscious.

Ivan watched, worry settling over him. Matvey had become a rare friend to him in the last few years, and he had no intention of losing something he almost never acquired. The doctors eventually ushered all the panicking nations to the waiting room. All gathered together, they finally greeted each other.

"We are happy to see all of you made it here safely." Francis offered.

"It was a long trip, aru. But we were lucky. We managed to avoid having to fight _them_ when our convoy was attacked in the Middle East. We hid in a city until the bombers gave up looking for us. Then we met up with Russia and his sisters yesterday evening, aru."

Kiku nodded in confirmation.

Katyusha fidgeted in her seat, aware of the somber atmosphere. "D—do you think they'll both be all right, brother?"

Ivan eyed his sister. "I believe so. America was not greatly injured. Matvey, on the other hand, more seriously so. But I think he will come out it fine."

"Since when do you call _mon petite_ Mathieu 'Matvey'?" France glared at him.

"Since I _feel_ like it." He glared back. France paled. _Well, that shut him up._

_

* * *

_

Alfred woke up, lightheaded. He groaned at his massive headache, trying to remember what had happened. It all came back to him in a flash, and he shot up, nearly doubling over as a wave of dizziness hit him. Coupled with the pain in his chest and ribs, he almost passed out. _Shit!_ He'd been defeated! The hero didn't get defeated! He fell back down, letting his head hit the pillow. _How could I have let that happen?_ He swallowed, cringing at the soreness in his throat.

He waited several minutes for the inevitable. He knew a whole myriad of people, from his bosses to his friends, would storm the room any minute and yell at him for hours for his stupidity. _God, I'm an idiot._ His plan had been perfect until that other bastard arrived. Something came rushing back to him. _What was he saying to me when he was holding my neck?_ The man had said he was…interesting? And that he was going to take him to the airship to meet the "boss"?

Alfred stared at the ceiling, confusion running through his veins. _What could he possibly want me for?_ There was already another idea sprouting in the back of his mind, but he suppressed it, knowing it probably wouldn't get him anywhere. It was even more dangerous than his last one. _Stop coming up with ideas, brain! Think of something else, like Matt._

Matt. He bolted upright again, trying to ignore the dizziness. Where was Matt? He jumped as the door opened, a startled Kiku in the doorway.

"Alfred-san! I did not know you were awake."

"Kiku? When did you get here?"

"When I stopped that man from kidnapping you in Barcelona."

"Oh." He knew _something_ must've happened in Barcelona. There was no way Matt beat both of those guys by himself. "Got'cha."

Kiku frowned deeper. "That was a very stupid move, you know? Even for you."

"I know. I know. Hey, wait! Are you calling me dumb?"

An eyebrow shot up. "Observant today, I see."

Alfred pouted before turning serious. "Kiku, where's Matt?"

A hint of sadness flickered in Kiku's indifferent eyes. "He's still in surgery."

"Surgery? For what?" Alfred gripped the sheets, wondering just what he'd let happen to his brother.

"The man called Drovich punched him the abdomen and ruptured a blood vessel. He's bleeding heavily internally."

Alfred lowered his head, ashamed. "My fault….stupid! I'm so stupid!"

Kiku sighed. "Alfred-san, please do not place all the blame on yourself. It was Matthew-san's decision to help you."

"But I guilt-tripped him into it!" He wanted to cry, but he stifled it. He couldn't let himself fall apart like this.

"It was still his decision. And he is facing the consequences. Do not put too much blame on yourself. Plus, I am sure he will be fine. The doctors updated us a few minutes ago and said the surgery is going fine."

Unfortunately, that didn't make Alfred feel any better. The only thought occupying his mind was that he'd gotten Matt hurt. _Next time…Next time I won't drag anyone else into it. I swear._ That hint of an idea he'd gotten had firmly rooted itself now. _I'll do this by myself if I have to. As long as no one else gets hurt because of me._

_

* * *

_

**Dro: **Uh oh...Alfred's got another idea! Duck for cover!

**Next Chapter:** We finally get to see what's happening to England, who's been trapped in an enemy airship since chapter 1! Anticipate a **huge** mindfuck moment! Followed by Romano's magic powers going awry and leading to something unexpected.


	9. Seven Years of Bad Luck

**Dro:** Hey, it's mindfuckery time!

**Chapter Summary:** England comes face to face with something from his nightmares. Meanwhile, Romano has a little accident with magic powers that has some interesting results.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Arthur cracked an eye open. God, was he sore. He tugged at his arms, finding them both locked in place. Still. Same for his legs. He sighed. When were these people planning on letting him down? He glanced at his bindings, his arms ringed in a dim purple glow. They'd stuck him to the wall with some kind of magic. He let himself go limp in the bindings. It was useless to struggle.

These people apparently overestimated his magic abilities. They seemed to think that he whisper a few words, wave his hands, and send them all back where they came from. Sure, if he had enough to time to whip up a counter spell, prepare a new magic circle, and actually say the damn thing before the man with the scythe lobbed his head off. Like that was going to happen.

He groaned, the guard standing next to his cell shooting him a glare. He rolled his eyes. He'd wondered at first why they hadn't just killed him, but he'd heard them talking amongst themselves enough to know that they thought Arthur might be the magic link keeping them in this world. They feared that if they killed them, the spell might well reverse itself and send them bounding back where they came from.

More than once, Arthur had considered trying to off himself, but short of biting his own tongue off, he had no way to manage that either. And he _wasn't_ biting his own tongue off. He supposed he should at least be happy they were actually bothering to feed him. If he could keep his strength up, maybe he could orchestrate some kind of escape. He tugged as his magic bindings again. Then again, maybe not.

Arthur had spent his few weeks of captivity thinking about those down below. He wondered how many of his friends were injured or worse. He'd seen the scythe man—Lucaster—listening to the one called Drovich bragging about they'd managed to kill two of the nations so far. He'd spent days wondering who'd they killed, days fearing it was Alfred and Matthew or hell, even Francis. Then, that terrifying girl named Siphone had started hanging out around his cell, trying to strike up chats with him. She'd been the one to tell him: Germany and Finland were dead.

Despite the fact that he was terrified of her, especially so since the two men seemed wary around her, he found himself anticipating her chats. She was his only link to what was happening in the outside world. And he wanted to know. He couldn't stand being ignorant to the plight of all his friends, to the plight of his _people_, who were being bombed and slaughtered in the streets. When he managed to get out here, he vowed to kill these bastards. _If_ he got out of here.

The sound of footsteps brought him out of his daze. Was that Siphone coming? He listened, realizing there was more than one person. He slumped. The other two bastards refused to even give him the time of day. They approached, and Arthur realized it was actually all three of them. The guard at the cell straightened up as they drew closer.

Siphone broke from the line and skipped up to his cage. "How's it going today, _Artie_?" She drew out the name and giggled.

Arthur was a little confused. "Same as usual. I'm still pinned to the wall."

She pouted. "True that. But not for long! The boss has decided to see you!"

Arthur felt his mouth go dry. He'd heard Siphone speak of the "boss" before. Apparently, the three of them and their boss were the only nations aboard any of the ships. The others were all manned by regular people, people gathered from several different worlds to create an army fit to take over others. And apparently, their "boss" was the one who had started this entire crusade. He'd come from his own world with his own army and picked up other nations willing to join his quest. This was the fifth world they'd hit according to Siphone. She'd told him happily that none of the nations in the last world they'd visited had been willing to join, so she'd gotten to "play with them until they couldn't anymore!" Arthur shuddered.

The three of them had the guard open the door, and they filed in. Lucaster walked up to the glowing violet circle that surrounded his bindings and traced his fingers over something, whispering. Arthur felt himself falling, but his sore limbs couldn't react in time. He fell face first onto the floor, striking his head on the stone.

"Ow…"

Drovich snorted. Arthur rolled over and glared at him, suddenly noticing his heavily bruised up face. "You're one to talk." He retorted.

Drovich's grinned dropped. "Why you…" He went for his sword, but Lucaster nudged with his elbow.

"Keep it together, you idiot."

Drovich huffed and crossed his arms. Lucaster peered down at him. "Do I _need_ to tie you up?"

Arthur groaned, annoyed. "We're on a fucking airship thousands of feet off the ground, I'm unarmed, and you have a bloody giant scythe!"

Lucaster shrugged. "True."

"Come on, Artie! Get up!" Siphone grabbed him by the arms and heaved him off the ground with unprecedented strength. He wobbled as he tried to stand, Siphone almost throwing him several feet without trying. _God, she's as strong as Alfred._ Lucaster pushed him along, leading him out of the cell and down the hallway. They went up a flight of stairs, Arthur's stiff legs protesting every step.

He gasped as bright light assaulted him. He'd been the dark for weeks now. He looked to left, realizing the light was coming from the massive windows that lined one side of the hallway. They overlooked a now destroyed city, still smoking, thousands of feet below them. He cringed. Did these people like watching destruction unfold beneath them? They led him along a wide, ornately designed hallway to a simple wooden door. Drovich walked up and turned the knob, pulling the door open without so much as a squeak.

Siphone and Lucaster pushed him forward past the doorway, which Drovich promptly closed behind him, leaving him alone. Well, alone except for the man in the chair. The chair was turned away from him, facing the same wall-sized windows that he'd passed in the hallway. The only thing he could see was the man's hand on the hand rest, a single finger tapping silently. Arthur took two hesitant steps toward the man's desk, unsure of what he was about to see.

A low chuckle sounded out from the chair, and Arthur jumped. The chair wheeled around, coming to a stop so that Arthur could get a direct look at the man. His stomach dropped out from under him. Disbelief hit him like a speeding train, sending him reeling backward several feet until he fell into the door. His heart pounded in chest, shaky breaths emanating from his throat.

This was impossible. Completely impossible.

It couldn't be. There was no way. This _wasn't_ happening to him!

This man was…

This man was…

Himself.

* * *

Lovino concentrated on the crate. He'd been working on bigger and bigger objects the past few days, but now he was starting to have a problem. Whenever he would use the power for more than a few minutes, a sudden surge of it would run through him and disrupt the flow, causing him to lose his hold on whatever he working on. It was irritating, and he couldn't figure out why it was happening. He wondered, not for the first time, if this meant he was getting _more_ powerful or if it meant something bad was about to happen to him.

He thought of stopping several times, but his body would start itching to use the power again. It was always running through his veins now, a dull thrum zipping his through his bones like electricity. He could _feel_ it there even when he wasn't using it. He shook his head and concentrated harder, feeling the tug on his power as the crated lifted from the ground. He spun it around in the air, keeping it steady. It moved fluidly at his command, floating slowly across the empty parking lot.

He'd had to be really careful when practicing. He didn't want a repeat of the gun incident. He made sure that the place where he was working would be empty for extended periods of time. This parking lot next to a loading dock was rarely used. He breathed out cool air, flicking his gaze up at the clear sky. He'd been lucky to get out of the base at all. After incident with America's stupid plan, the nations had been on lockdown. Their bosses had warned them to behave, and everyone was taking it seriously.

Luckily, he'd managed to slip out unnoticed. He preferred practicing at night. There were less people out and about to discover him. He walked around the parking lot, watching as the crate followed his commands. He'd also gotten much better at controlling things with _just_ his mind, no hands included. Although it was easier and faster to use his hands. But if he could use weapons in his hands _and _simultaneously fight using telekinesis then he'd be a force to reckon with.

Just as he was about to set the crate down, another surge shot through him. This time, it was different. Pain. He cried out, falling to the ground, the crate landing with a massive boom. Purple sparks dance off his body, his muscles going wild. He couldn't get up. _Damn it!_ His lungs refused to work. He struggled to breathe, his vision dancing with white spots. His body felt like it was on fire. He screamed. The pressure was pushing on him from the inside out, and he felt like his entire body would explode any second. He knew what it was now. No doubt.

Too much.

He had too much of it.

That was why the other nations used crystals to contain it. Because the body could only hold so much without…a blast of shot out from him in a shockwave, cracking the concrete around him.

A door slammed open, and he heard steps rapidly approaching. He tried to scream for whoever it was to stop. He was afraid he'd hurt someone. _Why did I do this? This was a stupid idea!_

"Lovino!" Feliciano's voice filled his ears, penetrating past the sharp ringing.

"Feli…Feliciano…run! Can't hold it!" His body convulsed again, and he cried out.

"Can't hold what? What's going on?"

"P—power! Stole it…stole it…from _them_. Can't…too much!" Purple sparks flew again, and Feliciano staggered backward, realizing exactly what was going on. He didn't know how Lovino had gotten a hold of it. He didn't know what his _fratello_ had been doing with it. But he knew it was killing him.

He grabbed Lovino by the hands and pulled his agonized brother to his knees, looking him straight in his violet-ringed eyes. "Give it to me."

"What?" Lovino's lips twitched. What had his _fratello_ just said?

"Give me the power, Lovino! Now!" He pleaded with his _fratello_.

"No…I can't…not you…"

"Give it to me!" He gripped his brother's hands. Hard.

Lovino cried out, the power building up reaching all new heights. He couldn't hurt Feliciano this way. He couldn't…but…but…but…He grabbed his brother's hands back, willing the power to shift out of his body. Immediately, the connection was made, and Feliciano gasped as the sparks danced across his skin. He could feel the power flowing his brother's veins, now flowing through his as well. He met Lovino's teary green eyes and smiled reassuringly, completely unsure about this power would affect him. A bubble of energy formed between them, and Feliciano could feel it rippling through his very core.

_Fratello…you'll be all right. I promise._ He wanted to say it, but the energy had engulfed him.

_I don't want to hurt you, Feliciano…_

_L—Lovino?_

Lovino seemed to realize they hadn't actually spoken out loud. Their eyes were glued on each other's, wide and disbelieving.

_We're talking…in our minds._

_Yeah…_Feliciano gripped his brother's hands harder, the pain between them dissipating. His brother's body began to relax, the massive bubble of energy split evenly between them. Feliciano released in a deep breath, relieved.

"What the hell is going on?"

The moment their eyes left each other to see the intruder, the bubble collapsed, their concentration broken. An immense force exploded between them, flinging them in opposite directions across the parking lot. Feliciano slammed into the wall of the building, landing in a heap. Lovino hit the ground, skidding across the rough ground before rolling to a stop. Neither brother got up.

Gilbert stared in disbelief, his eyes flicking from one unconscious brother to the other. What had just happened? Were they okay? Who did check first? Feli? Lovi? His body couldn't decide to run. He—

"What happened?"

Gilbert turned, realizing Alfred had appeared behind him. "Go check Feli." He ordered. His legs finally moved, taking him in Lovino's direction. Alfred stood there motionless and confused for a few moments before responding. He rushed over to Feliciano and knelt down beside him. He turned the boy over, the impact having left a forming bruise on his left cheek. Alfred checked his vitals, thankful that he was still breathing. He cradled Feliciano in his arms, shaking him gently to rouse him.

Warm brown eyes flittered open, confusion filling them. Feliciano groaned, unsure of what had just happened. His eyes shifted to the right, landing on America's worried face hovering over him. Realizing he was awake, Alfred lifted up into a sitting position, steadying him as he swayed.

"You okay? You scared to me to death!" A dry chuckle left America's lips. "What the hell happened?"

"I…um…magic…" Feliciano didn't know what kind of explanation he should come up with.

"Huh? Magic?" Alfred cocked an eyebrow. "You sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"

"No…Lovino was using…he had the same magic that _they_ use. But it was killing him, I think…I tried to take it from him." Suddenly realizing, he looked over Alfred's shoulder to where Gilbert was cradling a still limp Lovino. "Lovino!" He rose suddenly, his legs unsteady, and he nearly fell over. He was stopped by Alfred's chest, the man's had wrapping around his waist and holding him up. He glanced at Alfred's face, a blush making its way across his cheeks.

Alfred coughed, trying to brush off the intense gaze from Feliciano's eyes. "I'm sure he's fine. But don't push yourself, okay?" Feliciano finally broke eye contact, and Alfred helped him walk over to where Gilbert and Lovino were.

Gilbert shook Lovino by the shoulder, his thumb rubbing the boy's face. "Wake up, kid. Please." At his command, Lovino's green eyes cracked open, instantly meeting Gilbert's worried red one. He realized Gilbert's hand was on his face, caressing his cheek. Embarrassment shot through him, and he pushed Gilbert away.

"What're you doing?" He turned his heated face away.

"I…uh…" What _had_ he been doing? Gilbert wasn't sure he wanted to answer that question.

"Is everyone okay?"

The two of them looked up to see Alfred supporting a startled-looking Feliciano. Lovino nodded, the power having receded within him. He could still feel it inside him, but something about it had changed.

Gilbert frowned. "Good. Well, now that we're sure no one's dead, how about you two explain what the fuck you were doing?"

Lovino met his _fratello's_ eyes, eyes that were just as questioning as America's and Gilbert's. This was going to be a long, complicated discussion.

* * *

**Dro: **Bet'cha weren't expecting that one!

**Next Chapter:** I'm going to torment you by not putting England in it. Instead, you get to read two rather fluffy relationship development moments that form from the latter half of this chapter. Then we get back to England in Chapter 11 and find out exactly what the hell is going on.


	10. With a Cherry On Top

**Dro: **Beware, a chapter of fluff lies ahead!

**Chapter Summary:** Romano and Prussia argue over the former's secrets. Meanwhile, America tries to help Italy get back on his feet emotionally.

**Warnings: **None, really.

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

"So let me get this straight. You got 'magic powers' from that Drovich guy, then decided to keep it a secret from us even when you felt something was wrong?" Gilbert glowered at Romano, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Well, I certainly didn't plan for _this_ to happen."

"You…" Gilbert was shaking with anger. _That idiot!_ Not only had Lovino almost gotten himself killed, but now he'd dragged Feliciano into this whole magic fiasco. When Lovino had explained to the three of them what he'd been up for the past few days, Gilbert was mad. When he added that he believed he'd transferred some of his powers to Feliciano, Gilbert was furious. Now, as Lovino was explaining that he thought the power had been too much for his body and almost killed him, Gilbert was fuming. _What the hell was he thinking?_

"Well, it's over now, so let's all calm down." Alfred held up his hands. "There's really no point in yelling over something that's already happened. You guys are fine, so let's just let the anger go and talk about other things."

Gilbert glared at him. "You mean like how are we going to explain that the Italy brothers now have magic abilities to everyone else?"

"You're going to tell?" Lovino finally looked up at him, nervousness pooling in his eyes.

"Damn straight. You think I'm letting you off the hook for this? You almost got yourself _and_ Feliciano killed."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Gilbert." Alfred stepped in. "If our bosses catch wind of this, they might want to try using the brothers as weapons." He cringed inwardly. That had been _his_ first thought, unfortunately. The unprecedented opportunity that the Italy brothers presented was in no way lost on him, but he'd quickly shaken that idea out of his mind. He wasn't going to use his friends like that, no matter how much he wanted to take these sky bastards out. Plus, he already had another plan of his own. He just needed to set it into motion.

Gilbert bit his lip. He didn't want to admit it, but Alfred was right. Telling on the boys could pose an even bigger risk than allowing them to slip past his guard to keep practicing their "magic." He glanced at Feliciano. He'd gone back to being silent again. The bandage on his face had started peeling off from the impact earlier, and Alfred had peeled the rest of it off without thinking about it. They'd all been shocked to see an already completely healed injury, scarred over in a thin pink line that cut across Feliciano's face. Gilbert realized then that Feliciano had only kept wearing the bandages because he didn't want everyone to see what his face looked like. Gilbert couldn't help but pity him.

"Fine. We won't tell anyone. But you need to stop using it. It's obviously dangerous."

Lovino growled at him. "I don't care if it's dangerous. I want to learn how to use it. I want to learn how to fight with it."

Gilbert pinched the bridge of his nose. "We don't know anything about it, Lovino! For all you know, it could be killing you as you speak. Look what happened out there!"

"I know what happened out there, and I don't care!" He stood up and marched up to Gilbert, challenging him with a glare. "I'm going to use it whether you like it or not."

"We'll see about it."

"Yeah, we will." Lovino clenched his fist, a stack of books flying off the shelf and zooming past Gilbert's head before slamming into the wall.

Gilbert stared at him with wide eyes. "_Gott_, you really can…" He still hadn't wanted to believe it, not even when Lovino had explained it in full. But the kid really could…

"Told you. Now let's see if you can stop me."

_Gott, this idiot!_ Gilbert's hand shot out and grabbed Lovino's collar, pulling him closer. "You listen to me, Lovino Vargas. I swear to _Gott_ if you get yourself _or_ your _bruder_ hurt one more time, I will make sure you never use this magic shit again. Am I clear?"

Lovino stared at him, fear sinking into him. "Yeah." So Gilbert was letting him use it? The grip on his shirt loosened, and he pulled away from Gilbert. He wanted to be an ass, but Gilbert _had_ been nicer to him for the past few weeks. He supposed he could at least…_respect_ Gilbert's worry.

Gilbert released a deep breath. "Good." He relaxed his muscles. These two…he looked from Lovino to Feliciano. They were going to be the death of him. "One more thing."

Lovino perked up. _What now?_

"Whenever you're training with this magic, I _will_ be present."

It wasn't a request, and Lovino almost barked out a rejection, but he held his tongue. "Okay. Whatever."

A heavy silence filled the room for several seconds. "Hey!" Everyone jumped at Alfred's cheery voice. "Since that's settled, why don't we all go for food? I hear they have ice cream today." He tried to change the subject as best he could. It didn't quite work.

"Not really in the mood." Gilbert murmured.

"Me either." Lovino stood looking away from Gilbert, arms crossed.

Alfred sighed inwardly, his eyes flicking to Feliciano. "How about you, Feliciano?" But he wasn't about to take no for an answer anyway. He walked up to the boy, grabbed his shoulder, and pulled him from his seat, dragging him out of the room before he could protest.

Gilbert and Lovino stood there in shock. Gilbert snapped out of it first. "That was…weird."

Lovino didn't reply to him, instead choosing to go sit where Feliciano had been moments before. Gilbert knew the boy had started brooding, and he couldn't help but be annoyed. He walked up to the chair and stared down at Lovino, who refused to even glance his way. "Are we really going to do this, Lovino? I'm not trying to hurt you, you know?"

Lovino mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said, why do you even pretend to care?"

Alarms went off in Gilbert's brain. _Oh, don't tell me he thinks…_ "Lovi, do you really think I'm pretending?"

Lovino's snapped his head around, glaring at Gilbert in anger. "Don't call me that."

"Antonio calls you that."

"Because it's Antonio, and he…" Lovino found himself blushing, but it wasn't at the thought of Antonio's feelings for him. He was confused. He was embarrassed because…because he was explaining another man's feelings for him in front of Gilbert?

"He loves you. Yeah, I know. But it's not just that, _Lovi._" Gilbert grinned. "It's that you've let Antonio past that wall you put up to keep people out."

"What?"

"Do you really think no one notices? You try your hardest to keep other people out of range for your emotions. You're afraid of getting attached to others. I'm not sure why, but I think you feel inadequate. I think you've always compared yourself to Feliciano, who every likes because he's so carefree and happy. I think Feliciano's personality and sheer amount of friends make you feel like you're the lesser brother."

Lovino wanted to contradict him, but he couldn't find the words.

"I also think this had led you to believe that anyone who wants to get close to you is there to take advantage of you." Gilbert put his hands on his Lovino's shoulders. "I'm not here to hurt you, Lovi. I want to protect you, okay? We've known each other for a long time now, and I know we haven't always gotten along, but that doesn't mean I dislike you or want to cause your pain or tease you mercilessly. I _care_ about you just as much as I do Feliciano." He squeezed Lovin's shoulders. "So stop trying to block me out of your emotions. Letting yourself believe everyone around you wants to hurt you is only hurting yourself." He smiled. "And that's just not awesome."

Lovino snorted, trying his hardest to block out of the rush of emotions washing over him. "How did I know you'd find a way to fit the word 'awesome' in there somewhere?" His voice cracked.

Gilbert smiled at him, wiping away the cockiness that his usual grin exuded. "Don't I always?" He ruffled Lovino's hair, catching a tear with his thumb as it fell from Lovino's eye.

"Y—you idiot. You made me cry!" Lovino bit his lip.

Gilbert chuckled. "My bad." He wiped Lovino's tears away as they fell, the boy biting back sobs. Gilbert was sure no one had really approached Lovino about this before. The kid had spent his whole life with these feelings bottled up inside.

The next thing he knew, he had an armful of Lovino, who'd slipped out his chair and planted his face in Gilbert's chest. He locked his arms around Gilbert's back, sobbing and trying to talk at the same time. Gilbert held him, rubbing circles into Lovino's back as he laughed softly. Even now, Lovino was still sputtering out 'Idiot' and 'Stupid potato bastard' over and over.

_Looks like I finally made some progress._

_

* * *

_

Alfred ignored Feliciano's protests as he dragged the boy into the kitchen, where a crowd of nations where boisterously eating ice cream. The room quieted for a brief moment as they all spotted Feliciano and Alfred, who, as it appeared to them, were holding hands. Alfred felt Feliciano trying his hardest to pull away without it looking obvious, but he held on.

"Hey, what flavors do we have?"

The chatter immediately rekindled, and Alfred pulled Feliciano into an empty chair, finally releasing him. The boy was rigid in his seat, his eyes darting back and forth. Alfred knew he was expecting to be stared at like an alien for the scar on his face, and he intended to show Feliciano otherwise. After grabbing two bowls of ice cream, he plopped down into a chair next to Feliciano and handed him one.

"Hey guys, today is special! Check it out!" He glanced at Feliciano, who jumped to next him, eyes pleading.

Elizaveta was the first to notice. "Oh, Feli! You finally got your bandage taken off!" She smiled. "You look so much better now." She took a big bite of ice cream.

Roderich perked up at ex-wife's comment. "Oh, I hadn't even noticed. I'm glad it's all healed up now. I was worried about you, you know?" He smiled.

The rest of the group joined again, spewing happy comments about how they were glad Feliciano was getting better. When Feliciano took his first bite of ice cream, Alfred knew he had gotten the point across. Feliciano had obviously been terrified everyone would look at him like he was a freak. Alfred patted his shoulder, smiling at him, and he swore he saw a quick smile grace Feliciano's lips.

"To Feliciano!" He raised his spoon, and everyone echoed him. He noticed a few moments later that a light blush had crossed Feliciano's cheeks.

After half an hour and basically a ton of ice cream, the kitchen finally emptied out, leaving only Alfred and Feliciano. Alfred offered to take Feliciano's empty bowl, and he walked up to the sink and rinsed them out. He heard a murmur behind him. "Hmm?" He glanced back at Feliciano.

"Thank you." He whispered.

Alfred smiled at him. "Anytime."

Feliciano gaped. "Do you mean that?"

"Huh? Of course." He put the cleaned bowls back in the cabinet. "That's what friends are for, Feliciano."

"Since when are we friends? You rarely talk to me."

Alfred turned around to face him. "That was my mistake. I never really noticed you before. You were always surrounded by a large group of friends, and so was I. But now, when I see you, you're almost always with only your brother or Gilbert. And I can get a much better look at you now. I can see the strength I never saw before. The determination. The power that you hide beneath the surface. I felt like I could never get to know you before, but now…I find myself drawn to you. I find myself really admiring you."

"You admire…me?" Feliciano's shock appeared in a deep blush.

"How can I not? Instead of letting yourself fall to pieces at Germany's death, you got right back up and kept going. Despite the fact that your emotions were cracked and crumbling. Despite the fact that you were seriously injured. Despite the fact that death could literally be around any corner. You kept going. And that takes a lot more strength than most people have."

He met Feliciano's tearing brown eyes. "You…" Feliciano embraced him. Alfred wrapped his hands around Feliciano's back, hugging him back gently. "You were the only one…"

"Hmm?"

Feliciano took a deep breath. "You were the only one who didn't look at me like I was a broken doll, you know? They would all coo and prod and sprinkle me with kind words, but even my own _fratello_ would look at me like I was a puppet with tangled strings. Everyone did. Except you…I realized it the other day when you spoke to me here in the kitchen. And I really didn't get why. I still don't."

Alfred released him, pushing Feliciano away from him so he could met his eyes head on. "It's because you're not a broken doll, Feliciano. That's why I don't look at like you are." Alfred wasn't sure how he was expecting Feliciano to react to that. The spark in the other man's eyes told him he'd struck the perfect chord, igniting a fire that had long been dormant in Feliciano's chest. But even then, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. A "thank you" maybe? Another hug? A thousand simple things to show gratitude were on his list of possible expectations.

But even with that entire list in mind, he wasn't expecting Feliciano to kiss him.

* * *

**Dro: **Hey, look! It's the main pairing I've been promising you all story!

**Next Chapter:** England recounts his nightmarish meeting with his parallel self. Meanwhile, a confused and brooding America stumbles upon something rather embarrassing.


	11. The Sound of a Broken Record

**Dro: **I love evil!Arthur! I love him to death! And I hope you will too.

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur recounts his nightmarish encounter with his parallel double. Meanwhile, a brooding Alfred comes upon something he was probably wasn't supposed to see.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Arthur stared blankly at the wall, his mind foggy. He hadn't been able to think clearly since yesterday. The shock of his life. That was the only way to describe it. Of all the times he'd imagined coming face to face with the person behind all of this. Of all the times he'd thought of what he would he see, what he would hear, what would be done to him. Of all of those times, none of them even breached the surface of what he'd actually experienced. The man behind all of this was himself.

* * *

"_You…you can't be…" Arthur stammered. _

_His doppelganger had his elbows resting on his desk, his chin balancing on both hands. Identical green eyes scrutinized him, an amused smile catching the edge of the man's lips. His hair was slightly longer than Arthur's. A small scar marred the spot above his right eyebrow. But other than that they were exactly the same in appearance._

"_Who…this is…who…?" Arthur couldn't make a coherent sentence._

_The man chuckled. "Surprised? I was too." The accent caught him off guard. They had the same voice, but the man was obviously raised in a place that spoke quite differently. "Though I probably shouldn't have been. This isn't the first time we've come across a parallel twin. We met Lucaster's two worlds back. That was an interesting experience." The man leaned back in his chair, his eyes still roving over Arthur's body. _

"_P—parallel twin?"_

_The man's eyes lit up. "Of course! Some worlds are parallel, dear boy. And that dictates that there will be doubles of certain people spread around throughout the multi-verse. I was quite delighted when we came upon this world. I instantly realized it was a parallel to my home." He swiveled around in his chair, doing a complete circle before placing his feet on top of his desk. "Imagine my delight when Drovich brought me you! To think my parallel self would also have magic abilities. I'm impressed. Lucaster's double was a weakling. But I've read up on your history. Quite impressive country in the past." He pouted. "Though you seem to be decaying a bit."_

"_It happens." Arthur swallowed. This was not happening. He kept repeating it in his head. But he really couldn't deny the truth. _He_ was the enemy. _

_The man clucked with his tongue. "Nonsense. If you want to maintain power, then do so. There's no excuse for losing power." The man paused, his eyes locked onto Arthur's as if he was considering something. Arthur watched nervously as the man raised a finger and flicked it. Arthur blasted backward into the door and collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain. His back still hadn't healed._

_The man seemed disappointed. "Ah. I see. You don't really know how to use your magic very well, do you? Have you been relying on written spells?" _

_Arthur groaned. The man seemed to take that as confirmation. "Well, that's no good. Written spells are weak. You need to learn how to take raw energy and make it do things for you. I can teach you how. We'll start tomorrow."_

"_Why…why would I want to learn from you?" Arthur sputtered out, cringing as his back throbbed._

_The man eyes widened for a moment, then he burst out laughing. "Silly little me, you're on my ship as my prisoner. If I want you to do something, you'll do it. And I want a strong double! So you'll learn how to be one. I know you have the potential. I can sense the depths of the magic within in you. Almost completely untapped. Such a waste."_

_Arthur figured the man was either that arrogant or just plain stupid. _Why would he want his enemy to become stronger?_ Then he realized. _Because no matter how strong I get, he's completely sure he'll always be stronger than me. _Arthur's eyes trailed up to the deceptively happy ones of his double. _And if his little finger flick is any indication, he's probably right. _Arthur finally realized just how bad this situation was. The enemy of the world was a super-powered version of himself with super-powered underlings and a massive army of humans. And it was even worse than it would have been if they were a different world. This was a replica of his double's home world, which mean his double knew this world like the back of his hand. _

_That meant he could already know where the others might be hiding. He could know all the military bases of the world. All the firepower. All the knowledge he needed to destroy everyone who got in his way. Arthur struggled to stand up. When he finally did, he glared at his double, who raised an eyebrow._

"_Still going to be obstinate, little me?"_

"_Listen to me, you wanker. I am not taking instruction from you! Under any circumstances." Arthur was shaking in a combination of exhaustion and anger. _

_The double just smiled at him. "I'm sure I can change your mind. In fact, let me do it right now." The next thing Arthur knew, the man was right in front with a hand around his neck. Choking, Arthur struggled in his grasp, but the man's fingers were like steel. The double dragged him around the desk toward the window. Arthur felt faint. His double raised his other and pressed his palm against the window. Arthur watched in horror as a light pulse of purple flashed over the glass, which then rippled like water. The man smiled at him again. "Let's move up your first lesson: teleportation. You have thirty seconds to teleport out of my grasp before I drop you."_

"_Wha—?"_

_The man swung him around by the neck, and out…no, _through_ the window as if was a liquid, holding him out in midair over a mile above the ground. Arthur let out a strangled scream, grabbing desperately at the man's arm. The man just smiled at him. "Twenty-five seconds, little me."_

_Arthur's eyes me the ground far below him, the wind tearing at his skin. His heart pounded in his chest. _I'm going to die._ Arthur was sure of it. He had no idea how to use magic in this way. He felt his double was just assuming that he could. What if their magic was totally different? What if Arthur really couldn't do this? His eyes were glued to the ground far below him. If he couldn't, then he would die. _

_He looked back up at his double, who still had that innocent smile plastered on his face. "Fifteen seconds."_

_Arthur scrambled for an idea. He tried to feel for his magic, which was usually buried somewhere deep inside. Most of the time, he only felt it when he was reading from spell books. He dug for it, desperately calling for it in his mind. _Please. Just this once. Work! _He felt a spark of something, and he clenched his eyes shut. _Work. Work. Work! _He tried to will himself back into the room, and he felt a slight tug. _Again! _He concentrated his hardest, his head exploding into pain._

"_Five."_

_He concentrated every last ounce of energy he had into this one command._

"_Four."_

Please do this for me.

"_Three."_

Please!

"_Two."_

Please!

"_One."_

Move!

_Arthur slammed face first into the floor, pain flaring up his back again as he landed awkwardly. He didn't move. His breath came in shallow pants, and his vision wavered. He entire body felt like it had a current running through it. _

"_Wow, that was a close call, wasn't it?"_

_Arthur's eyes languidly moved upward to see his double sitting on his desk, legs crossed and grinning. "See? I knew you could do it. I think you may have broken through your little magic dam too. Should be easier for you next time."_

_Arthur wanted to jump up and strangle the man, screaming at him that he'd never do that again, but he couldn't even sit up. His muscles were twitching. His lungs weren't working properly. It felt like someone was pounding at his back with a sledgehammer. So he just sat there and glared._

"_Don't look at me like that!" He pouted. "I did something good for you! Now you actually have a substantial amount of magic running through your body. You won't have to dig for it anymore!" The man put the smile back on his face. "But I guess you're probably tired now, so we'll continue this lesson tomorrow after I'm done ordering around troops to burn your cities to the ground." He winked. "Until then." He let out a high-pitched whistle, and the door immediately opened. _

_Arthur couldn't roll over, but he figured out who it was pretty quickly. He was hoisted up by two pairs of strong arms, and he bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. The pain in his back was terrible._

"_Drovich. Lucaster." His double addressed. "Take little me to a guest room on level two. Preferably a room with a door that locks from the _outside_. Get him some new clothing. Feed him well. And you might want to call the doctor while you're at it. I think he might have a herniated disk. Painful little buggers, they are."_

"_Yes, sir." Lucaster answered._

"_So, I'll see you tomorrow then, little me?"_

"_Stop calling me that." He barked. Drovich's hands tightened him, but Lucaster remained steady._

"_Be nice, Drovich." A dark look crossed his double's eyes, and Drovich's grip immediately loosened. The looked faded before it even settled, and the man pouted. "You too, little me."_

"_We're nothing alike. I'm not you."_

_The man seemed to mull this over. "Well, I suppose we are a little different. I mean, I'm really powerful, and you're rather strong but still really weak compared to me. Our accents are a little different. Our country names are a little different. But, really, little me, you can't deny that we're the same person from two parallel worlds. The only reason you're even denying it all is because you're afraid you _are_ like me. Just accept it. It'll make things easier on you."_

"_You…I'm nothing like…"_

"_Actually, we're very much alike. You're Great Britain, former instigator of some of the most brutal imperialism in your world. I'm the United Empire of Great Britannia, current instigator of the most brutal imperialism in the multi-verse. Trust me, little me." He smiled, wide and completely false, the innocence morphing into malice in seconds. "You and I are exactly the same."_

_

* * *

_

Arthur finally broke his gaze off the wall. His head was pounding again. The stress of this situation was overwhelming. His double's words had shaken him, and they were all he'd focusing on for hours. Despite the fact he was now in a soft bed as opposed to stuck to a dungeon wall, he still hadn't been able to sleep. The man's words were haunting him, bringing back memories of the days where he'd overtaken land after land, forcing people into his servitude. His double was merely doing the same thing on a grander scale. He couldn't deny that. It was the truth.

The man _was_ him. He probably thought like Arthur, acted like Arthur, strategized like Arthur. Arthur could try and escape or fight back, but the man would no doubt anticipate his every move. They thought the same way. How could Arthur possibly defeat a physically and magically stronger version of himself?

He let himself sink back down onto the bed, and he picked up a pillow and held it over his face, groaning into it. In five hours, as Siphone had informed him, the "boss" would be meeting with him again. Five hours until he had face his worst nightmare again. He wanted to cry. He wanted to just roll over, curl up into a ball, and sob until he fell asleep. But he was restless. The stress made him jittery. The pain kept him from relaxing (and he'd be damned if he'd medicate the shit out of himself while in this place; the pills remained untouched on his nightstand). And the magic kept him feeling alive. He kept moving around, shifting his fingers and curling his toes and bending his knees. The magic made him feel _alive_ in a way he hadn't before. It was like an electric current running through him, keeping his body in an excited state. And honestly, he was afraid of what that might mean.

He groaned louder. _Why me? Why did have to be _me_? _

_

* * *

_

Alfred had been walking aimlessly when he'd first run into Emil. He wasn't very close to Iceland, but they'd gotten along well enough in the past. The guy was a little too quiet for his taste, but he supposed it was better than walking with Norway, whose eternal scowl made him uneasy.

"So, how've you been holding up?" Dumb question, Alfred knew, but he wanted to get his mind off what had happened in the kitchen earlier. It had been a chaste kiss, sure, but…but…Feliciano had _kissed _him. And then he'd run away with wide eyes and locked himself in his room. _Guess I ruined that friendship._ He was trying his best to get his mind off of it.

So he'd gone to visit Matt, who was resting in his room. His brother had been put on bed rest for a week while he healed from his injuries. But Matt had seemed like he really didn't want Alfred around, and he was starting to get the impression his brother was angry at him and blamed him for the injuries. Upset, Alfred had just started wandering the halls. Everyone around was either completely depressed looking—Francis, Berwald, even Antonio!—or didn't really have time to deal with him. Some of the nations were constantly being called into meetings with their bosses, but Alfred's hadn't bothered since his little failed stunt.

"Better than some, I guess." Emil's quiet voice broke his destructive thought pattern. _Thank God._

"That's true. Have you talked to Sweden lately?"

Emil groaned. "I can't get him to talk at all. We've all tried. Not even Mathias can get him to talk."

"Sorry…"

Emil smiled sadly at him. "Don't be. Berwald will eventually come out of his shell. It's just going to take a while."

"All of this…sometimes I think it's just a dream." Sometimes he _wished_ that. "Sometimes I think I'll wake up, and this will all disappear."

"If only." Emil looked up, his eyes looking wistfully off at nothing. They rounded a corner and headed to a room on the right. Emil had been heading to Denmark's room when they'd run into each other. Alfred was sad. This meant he'd be alone again, and his thoughts would start running wild. _Why? I need something to distract myself. Anything. Anything at all._

Not bothering to knock, Emil opened the door, stopping dead as he took a single step inside. His mouth hung open in complete shock, his eyes wide. Alfred didn't notice this for a few seconds, but when he finally came out of his brooding and back to reality, he realized something weird was going on.

"Emil?" He followed the shocked boy's eyes to the bed on the side of the room.

Where Denmark and Norway were passionately making out. Shirtless.

"Oh." His voice came out as a squeak, which startled the two lovers.

Mathias jumped back, stunned, and promptly tumbled off the bed and onto the floor. Scrambling up, he met the eyes of the two shocked onlookers. "Oh. Hey. Shit." His eyes darted back and forth. "Hey, guys!" He laughed, breathy and humiliated.

Lukas just bored his scowl, now underlined with a deep blush, into Alfred's skull. _Gee, it wasn't my fault! _He wanted to yell. Instead, he backed slowly out of the room. "I'll, uh, see you guys tomorrow." Then he was gone, marching off down the hallway in a power walk.

* * *

**Dro: **-chuckles- I need to keep the Nordics in the story. They're important later. So what better way than some DenNor and embarrassing make out moments? (Besides, you know, Sweden kicking ass, but that comes later.)

**Next Chapter:** One long, single scene where Italy confronts his feelings, America comforts him, something romantic happens, and Romano ruins it all.


	12. The Sky is Crying

**Dro: **Behold, a chapter without breaks!

**Chapter Summary:** Feliciano contemplates his feelings, Alfred ties to comfort him, something romantic and passionate finally goes down, and Romano has just _has_ to ruin the moment!

**Warnings: **Langauge

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Why the hell had he done that? He stared out the window, head sore from being against the wall for the last four hours. Seriously, why? His stomach growled loudly again, but he continued to ignore it. What was wrong with him? His fingers gripped the iron cross tightly, bruises from the sharp edges already formed and throbbing. How long had he been holding on to it? He didn't know. Sometime from the point where he'd fled the kitchen to the point where he'd slammed his bedroom door behind him, he'd torn his shirt open and grabbed onto the necklace for dear life.

He sighed. It was raining today. The sun had yet to rise, and the view outside his window was only lit by the scattered security lights of the facility. His eyelids began to droop again, and he shook his head, trying to keep himself awake. He hadn't been able to sleep, his mind running wild with too many thoughts, but now he was starting to regret staying up. He wasn't sure how he'd be able to function today like this.

On top of that, he wasn't sure how he'd be able to face Alfred. What the hell had he been thinking when he decided to kiss Alfred? Sure, Feliciano liked Alfred. Alfred was kind and friendly. Alfred was a generally happy person, and he used his attitude to try and make everyone else happy too, and Feliciano admired that about him. Lately, Alfred had gotten closer to him, as they hadn't been more than acquaintances in the past. And sure, Alfred had helped him get over his anxiety about his face. But did that mean he wanted to kiss Alfred?

He gripped the cross tighter, the edges biting into his fingers. Ludwig. The incident at the church felt like it had been ages ago, but it hadn't even hit the month mark yet. Two days from now would mark exactly thirty days since Ludwig had…been killed. A single month. How could it only have been a month? He felt like he hadn't seen Ludwig's stern but caring face in years already. So much was always happening that it felt like time was flying by. How long would it be before Feliciano forgot what Ludwig's voice sounded like? Forgot how he kissed? Forget how they loved?

Feliciano found that these things were already starting to fade. His memory of Ludwig's features were already smudged and blurry. He found himself taking out pictures to remember. And it had only been a month. What about when it really had been a year? How much will he have forgotten then? How much of a faded memory would Ludwig be as opposed to a lost reality? Feliciano bit his lip, tears gathering in his eyes.

Ludwig was gone. He knew that. He'd known it since the moment he'd opened eyes after Ludwig had saved him. But he still had trouble facing the fact as the reality it was. He still found himself wishing this was all a dream. He knew better than that though. This _was_ the only reality. And so he found himself pondering something he hadn't wanted to consider. Ludwig was gone, but Alfred was here. Just the thought of Alfred's name made his heart flutter.

Was he a disgrace of a lover? To so quickly forsake the man he'd loved for a lifetime for one he barely knew? The guilt and confusion washing over him made him groan. What did you do in a situation like this? What was he supposed to do? After his little stunt in the kitchen, he certainly couldn't avoid Alfred forever. So what choices did that leave him with? Go back into his cold shell where he ignored the real world and let his memories take him away? Go back into that place in his mind where he was useless to the outside world? He had every bit as much responsibility as everyone else to help fight the invaders. So he couldn't do that.

Then what other options did he have? If he was developing feelings for Alfred and he couldn't avoid Alfred…then his only choice was to accept those feelings. Which it hurt him to do. He felt like he was tarnishing Ludwig's memory by doing that. He banged his head against the wall. "What am I supposed to do? Someone tell me please."

But no one answered.

He would've asked his _fratello_ for some help, but Lovino had never returned to their room. He felt a pang of something akin to envy when he realized it meant his _fratello_ was probably still with Gilbert. Feliciano wasn't that oblivious. He could see Gilbert's feelings for Lovino written all over his face. And over the past few weeks, he'd seen his _fratello's_ feelings begin to change in favor of Gilbert's. He wasn't sure what had caused Lovino to break away from his long-term commitment to Antonio, but he actually wasn't surprised by this development. The pair of them had had a love-hate relationship for the longest time (though he was sure neither of them realized the first part of that), so it was only natural that at some point it would shift in favor of one side.

He was about to let out another loud groan when a soft knock sounded on his door. He turned his head, wondering if he'd imagined it. It wasn't even 5:00 AM yet, so who was up? The knock repeated. "Um, come in?"

The door creaked as it opened, light from the ever-present hallway fixtures streaming in. Feliciano's heart skipped a beat when he realized who it was. Alfred stood in the doorway, his figure illuminated by the light. Alfred seemed genuinely surprised to see him awake.

"I was sure you'd be asleep."

Feliciano turned his head back to the window, but all he could see was Alfred's reflection bouncing off of it. "I couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

"Like what?" Alfred slipped into the room, closing the door behind him and plunging the room back into early morning darkness.

"Just…a lot of stuff."

Alfred walked over to the window seat and sat down next to him. Feliciano pulled his knees closer to him, giving Alfred more room, but he immediately realized the man thought he was pulling away from him. He looked hurt. "What kind of stuff?"

Feliciano knew Alfred was baiting him, so he tried to avoid it. "Nothing much. What about you? I was sure you liked to sleep in."

Alfred laughed softly. "Actually, I haven't slept at all. Too much on my mind too, I guess."

"Like what?" Feliciano couldn't hold back his smile.

"You know…a lot of _stuff._" Alfred raised his eyebrows, giving Feliciano a look that read 'Let's end this game and get down to business.' "No, really. I mean, first there's this whole magic thing. By the way, how do you feel?"

"Fine. Lovino described the constant electric thrum from the magic, but I don't feel it yet. I feel _different_, but I'm not sure what means."

Alfred let out a 'Hm.' "Well, I'm sure we'll find out soon. By the way, where is Lovino?"

"I'm assuming he's in bed with Gilbert, but don't tell him I said that."

Alfred gaped. "Are you serious?"

"Come on, don't try and tell me you're too blind to see what's going on between them. Even Antonio has noticed it, and he's completely oblivious to almost everything." Feliciano had seen the Spaniard's suspicious eyes glancing back and forth between his _fratello_ and Gilbert more than once.

Alfred couldn't counter that. He _had_ noticed it after all. "Well, I just didn't know they'd gotten _that_ far yet."

Feliciano shrugged. "Who knows? But last time I saw him he was with Gilbert. And we left them alone, so…" He left the rest up to Alfred's imagination.

"Right. We left them alone and…" Alfred chewed on his lip.

Feliciano bit back a groan. He really didn't want to talk about this. "Look, that…I'm sorry…"

Alfred blinked, confusion. "Sorry for what?"

"What I did was uncalled for. It was too soon, I know. That was stupid of me."

Alfred's eyes softened. "Too soon for who, Feliciano?'

Feliciano looked away. "For either of us. That was way too fast. We've only been friends for…days."

"Is this really about how long we've been friends, Feliciano?" Alfred's skeptical look told him they both knew he was lying, so there was no point in continuing the charade.

"Look, I…I…" _Dio_, was he really going to say it? "I do…feel something for you. I won't lie about that. But every time I think of you that way, my chest hurts. Bad. And my conscience yells at me. I feel like I'm tainting Ludwig's memory to think of anyone else remotely in the way I thought…think…of him. And it's got me all confused. I'm torn between knowing he's gone and letting him go or clinging to his memory for dear life. There's something really wrong with me, isn't there?"

There was a spark of amusement in Alfred's eyes. "Wrong with you?" He chuckled. "Feliciano, it's perfectly normal to feel that way. Whenever you lose a loved one, you always feel guilty when anyone starts to replace that person. But you just need to remind yourself that that lost loved one would _want_ you to move on. Think about it. Would Ludwig really want you to hurt yourself by dwelling on his memory forever?"

Alfred's point was sound, and Feliciano knew he was right. Ludwig would probably be incredibly upset to learn Feliciano was curling up in corners to cry about him all the time. That he was breaking off his relationships with others to dwell on the one he'd lost. He knew Alfred was completely right, but it still hurt. Feliciano tried to brush it off.

"Are you just comforting me so I'll kiss you again?" He teased.

Alfred went rigid, then he laughed. "Only if no one walks in on us."

"Huh?" Feliciano raised an eyebrow.

"Let's just say Denmark and Norway will probably be glaring at me for a while."

Feliciano made a silent 'Oh' with his mouth.

"Yeah. One of the more embarrassing things I've done in a while."

Feliciano couldn't disagree with that. They sat in silence for several minutes, both of them watching the sky lighten up as the sun rose behind the thick storm clouds. Feliciano's hand suddenly throbbed, and he looked down to realize that, at some point in his conversation with Alfred, he'd let go of the cross. His fingers were bloodied in some places where the cross had cut through the skin. He grimaced.

"What's wrong?"

"Ah, nothing."

Alfred leaned over to him and grabbed his wrist, turning Feliciano's hand until Alfred could see the palm. "What the…?" His eyes drifted to the cross, and a look of sympathy flashed across his blue eyes. "Let me go grab a first aid kit, okay?"

Alfred stood up and started moving toward the door when it really sank in. Alfred's presence had made him let go of the cross. Alfred had made him let go. When no one else could. Not Gilbert. Not Lovino. That meant…maybe Alfred _really could_...

"Wait!"

Alfred stopped midstride and whipped around. "What's wrong?"

Feliciano rose from his seat, stiff knees protesting, and walked over to Alfred. Alfred's eyes widened as Feliciano's hands wound around his neck, the smaller man pulling Alfred closer to him. Feliciano looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Kiss me."

Alfred's heart fluttered. Without speaking, he wrapped his arms around Feliciano's waist, pulling the other man flush against him. Feliciano leaned up as he leaned down, their lips brushing lightly. It was like a spark. They pulled back, eyes wide. Then they kissed again. Feliciano's arms tightened around him, the man's fingers slipping into hair. Lips met, hot and passionate, more times than either of them could count. Alfred's fingers slid up and down Feliciano's back, hitting sensitive spots that caused Feliciano to press further into him with a groan.

Alfred dared to slide his tongue across Feliciano's bottom lip. Feliciano hesitated briefly. Then he parted his lips. Alfred' pressed their lips together, hard, and slid his tongue into Feliciano's mouth. It brushed past teeth and gums, Feliciano's tongue meeting his halfway. He heard Feliciano moan lowly, his fingers now pulling at Alfred's shirt. One button undone. Another. Tongues fought. Alfred's glasses hit the floor. Feliciano stumbled backward, pulling Alfred with him. They hit the wall, hips coming together. A strangled moan broke from Alfred's throat. He slid his hand down the outside of Feliciano's hip, slipping it downward toward the man's inner thigh.

Their mouths slid apart, Alfred's lips landing on Feliciano's neck. He peppered the skin with kisses, trailing downward until he reached the bridge between neck and shoulder. He sucked on the skin there, a low moan emanating from Feliciano's throat.

"_Alfred…_"

Alfred bit the skin softly. Feliciano gasped. Alfred moved down to Feliciano's collarbone, unbuttoning the other's shirt with unsteady fingers. The last button came undone, revealing a flawless chest to Alfred's eyes. He let out a shaky breath, looking up to meet Feliciano's half-lidded gaze. "Feliciano…"

"Hm?" Feliciano's fingers slid down his face, cupping his cheeks.

"You're beautiful."

Brown eyes widened in disbelief, a heavy blush crossing Feliciano's cheeks. "Thank you." The near silent whisper wasn't lost to Alfred's ears. Alfred leaned up and met Feliciano's lips in another heated kiss. Alfred went to unbutton the remaining buttons on his own shirt, his fingers brushing against Feliciano's chest briefly. Feliciano gasped into the kiss as Alfred's cold fingers met his skin. He wanted more of this man. He wanted all of this man. He wanted…

Light poured into the room.

"What the fuck?"

Alfred broke away from him immediately, both of them throwing their eyes toward the door. Lovino stood in the doorway, green eyes wide in disbelief. He flicked on the light, Alfred and Feliciano cringing at the brightness. Feliciano opened his eyes just time to see Lovino grab Alfred and haul him away.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"_Fratello! _Stop it!" Feliciano pushed himself from the wall, panting. Okay, so he and Alfred had _definitely_ gotten carried away, but that was no reason for Alfred to get beat up.

Lovino completely ignored his brother. "You little fucker! How dare you take advantage of my brother!"

"Whoa! Whoa!" Alfred raised his hands in surrender. "There was no advantage-taking going on here!"

"My brother is in no condition to consent to shit like that!"

"Huh?" Alfred gaped. "Feliciano is perfectly capable of making decisions by himself!"

"He's emotionally—!"

Lovino found himself heaved off of Alfred and spun around, a fist landing on his face and sending him sprawling onto the floor. He rolled over, shocked to see his _fratello_ looking down at him. "Did…did you just _punch _me?"

"What do you think?" Feliciano glared down at his brother, an angry fire welling up inside him. "You're acting like I'm brain damaged, _fratello_! If I want to make out with Alfred, that's my business!"

"But what about Ludwig?"

"Ludwig is dead!" Feliciano screamed at the top of his lungs.

The silence that filled the room was only broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. Several nations appeared in the doorway, all of them stopping cold when they saw the scene before them. Feliciano's rage boiled over into something else, something he hadn't expected to feel for years to come. Something he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to feel. But there it was, staring him in the face, sinking into his mind as a fact, as the truth. As reality.

Acceptance.

* * *

**Dro: **Yes, I finally got Alfred and Feliciano together! Now I just have like five other pairings to work out! -dies-

**Next Chapter:** Recovering from his first day of training (aka Hell), Arthur unwittingly gets Siphone to reveal something both relieving and horrifying. Meanwhile, Feliciano takes a walk to clear his his head, only to have his magic finally come in. Chaos ensues.


	13. Singing in the Rain

**Dro: **Writing between classes. That's probably what I'll be doing for the rest of the semester. Anyway, here's Chapter 13. Have at it.

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur finds out something both relieving and disturbing. Meanwhile, Feliciano does something immensely awesome with his new magic powers.

**Warnings: **Hm, none?

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH.

* * *

His entire body ached. He laid limply on the bed, sheets tossed over him by another person, head slowly sliding off the pillow. Arthur wasn't sure if he could even move if he tried. His muscles felt like liquid. Every twitch sent sharp spikes off pain surging through him. That bastard had done a number of him. And his back still hurt. A soft groan slipped from between his lips.

"Training" was a misnomer. It was more like a game of "Survival." Instead of teaching him spells or energy control, the other him was convinced that the best way to train people in magic was to let their bodies figure out what to do on their own. Apparently, that was how he'd taught the other three nations. Arthur hadn't been sure what the other him was talking about at first, but it had become pretty clear when a _giant fireball_ had barely missed his head. Forget the fact that the man _threw a fireball at his head_. How the hell did you even make a fucking fireball appear out of thin air?

It hadn't stopped there. First, his double had thrown the elements at him. Walls of fire. Lightning bolts. Floating water that tried to suffocate him. Using his newfound magic abilities, Arthur had at least been able to create a magic shield, but the other him just rolled his eyes and threw an even stronger inferno at him, breaking his shield into pieces and sending him face-first onto the floor. Annoyed, his double had _kindly_ requested that Arthur attempt to fight back. After all, he was supposed to be learning. And he had.

After about thirty minutes of near-death experiences, Arthur had gotten the hang of making fire with the snap of his fingers. Granted, his ability to create fire paled in comparison to his double, who could blink and throw a wall of flame at you, but hey, it was progress. Water was harder. His double could pull water right out of the air, freeze it, melt it, and turn it into a deadly weapon. Arthur could…uh…make it move a little? Wind…ah, hadn't been a very pleasant experience. He'd ended up pinned to the wall with a wind so vicious he couldn't even breathe. It had continued until he was on the edge of consciousness, then his double had let him fall to the floor. The best wind Arthur could manage was enough to comfortably fan off his double's face.

Then there was the goddamned telekinesis. If it wasn't enough that the man could haul a solid concrete block (that weighed about two tons if he remembered correctly) across the room with a flick of his wrist, his double could also control _Arthur's_ body. He'd been dragged around the floor with invisibles hands on his ankles, slammed into the ceiling, floor, and wall repeatedly, whipped around at high speeds in midair until his neck cracked loudly, and pinned to the window with so much pressure the ultra-thick bullet-proof glass had spider-webbed. As for Arthur's progress with telekinesis…well, he could pick up cinderblocks with his mind. Yeah, how was that for progress?

He groaned even louder as a knock sounded off his door. _Please just go away._ Of course, the knocker did _not_ go away. Instead, Siphone opened the door with a loud greeting of "Hey, Artie!" and teleported onto his bed.

"How ya feeling?"

He grunted.

She pouted. "Aw, that bad, huh? Yeah, the boss is pretty rough when it comes to training. When I first got my magic, all I could do with was break things with my magic-induced super strength. The boss said I had no refinement. Took me a lot of training with Lucaster to do special things like telekinesis. Actually, you know, you didn't do so bad. The boss said you're naturally gifted, which is real special. You should feel good, Artie! The boss rarely gives people comments like that."

"Gifted, huh?" He mumbled.

"Yep! You keep making good progress, and you'll be a master in no time!"

Arthur was a bit skeptical of that claim, but he kept his mouth shut.

"By the way, what do you want for dinner? The boss said we should give you options in honor of your first day of training."

Arthur flicked his tired eyes toward her. "Tea?"

"Oh, sure! Anything else special?"

"No. Just want some good tea."

"Okie-dokie, Artie! I'll go tell the cooks to make the best tea they have!" She hopped off the bed, the mattress shaking, and skipped back to the door. "See you later, Artie!" She almost slammed the door, but she instantly turned around and stopped herself. "Oh, I almost forgot. The boss says 'Same time tomorrow!'" She emulated in a poor excuse of his double's voice.

Arthur wanted to cry. His body was so sore. He was bruised from head to toe. How could he get through this tomorrow and the next day and the next without dropping dead? He buried his head into the pillow. Why did something like this have to happen to him? Huh? What did he do to deserve this? He already had the destruction of the world on his shoulders because of his stupid fucking spell, so why did he need the additional torment? Was this his _punishment_ for being an idiot? _God, I would rather go to hell. _

Stupid Arthur. Stupid double. Stupid magic! Magic. Something Siphone had said suddenly clicked in his mind. Did she say she'd _received_ magic? Arthur found that a bit strange. Not everyone had a tolerance for magic. In fact, most people could not handle it. Some people could only handle certain amounts. Unless you were born with magic, there was no guarantee your body wouldn't reject it. If your body was intolerant, then artificially infusing you with magic could kill you. For those intolerant of magic, the only way to control any was…

Through a medium.

Everything fell into place, and Arthur wasn't sure whether he should be excited or fucking terrified. One the one hand, this development meant that he could take down Drovich, Lucaster, and Siphone. All of them had crystals (how the hell hadn't he realized this before?) that they used as mediums to control a substantial amount of magic. The magic was not actually infused with them, which meant if he could separate them from their mediums, they would no longer have magic. Without magic, even Arthur's own powers would be enough to defeat them.

On the other hand, this left Arthur with a horrifying prospect. If the magic that the trio used did not originally belong them, then someone else must have given it to them. And the only person who could've done that was the other Arthur. But each member of the trio was so powerful individually, that this meant…Good God. His double already had so much power that he could probably kill an army with a flick of his finger. If he _still_ had that much power after giving such an immense amount of it to three other people then…how fucking powerful was he to begin with?

And this left an even bigger problem. The other Arthur could, at any time, take his magic back from the trio. Even if Arthur could take their mediums from them, his double could just reclaim the magic again, which would give him such a power boost that…no one on this planet could even hope to kill him. That level of power…was that even possible? Arthur found himself shaking. The situation was even worse than he thought. He had no doubt in his mind that if he managed to wrangle the power away from those three that his double would just take it back and blast him into oblivion.

The gravity of this situation was pressing down on him. If he didn't figure out a way to defeat his double, then these people were going to take over his planet. But if he couldn't beat his double in combat, then how would they win? There was always the possibility that…that Arthur could send them back to the world they came from, but creating a spell like that would take weeks of research and preparation, weeks he did not have. Hopelessness began to settle in chest. _How can I possibly do this? _And it _was_ his job to find a solution. It was his fault they were here. And it was his responsibility to bring them down or make them leave. _If only I hadn't been captured. If I was out of this place, I could actually spend the time to create a counter-spell that would blast them all back beyond our dimension. _

Escape. He needed to escape. He immediately pushed that up on his priority list. Maybe if he could just get out of this place, he could garner the time and resources he needed to create a counter spell. But…he looked longingly out the window. How the hell was he supposed to get off this flying deathtrap?

He pulled the pillow over his head and groaned. _I hate my life. So much. _The other Arthur flashed into his mind. _Not to mention I hate myself._

_

* * *

_

Damp earth shrouded the sound of his footsteps as he walked deeper into the forest. He knew if anyone found him missing, he'd probably be in a lot of trouble, but Feliciano really needed to clear his head. The early morning fiasco had left him confused, not to mentioned embarrassed. All the other nations were giving him looks and whispering now. _Everyone_ had heard within an hour about him and Alfred. _I'm so stupid. Why did I have to yell so loudly?_

'_Ludwig is dead!_' He remembered the words tumbling out of his mouth without even a second thought. It was the truth he'd been pushing to the back of his mind for weeks. He'd always known it; he just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. But Alfred's presence had changed his feelings. The man was warm and caring and bright. He was a beacon of light in Feliciano's otherwise dark world. Alfred had a pull—like gravity—that tugged Feliciano closer and closer to him. Kissing him felt right. Touching him felt right. Feelings Feliciano had long thought to be cold and dead had resurfaced, and Alfred was the cause of it all.

He wouldn't deny, however, that the two of them had gone a bit too far last night. He certainly hadn't meant to have a heavy make out session with the man. He really had just wanted a kiss or two. But then he'd felt that spark between them—that perfect, perfect spark—and he'd lost himself in it. He supposed he should've been somewhat thankful for Lovino's intervention. They might've gone _way_ too far had he not walked in, and Feliciano wasn't quite ready to take _that_ step.

But then his stupid _fratello_ had taken it overboard and almost hurt Alfred. And then _he'd_ hurt his own _fratello._ Lovino was now sporting a very black eye, courtesy of Feliciano's unbridled anger that had flared up at Lovino's insistence that he was either an invalid or mentally incapable of making his own decisions. Is _that_ what his _fratello_ had been thinking this whole time? He couldn't help but feel insulted. He wasn't mentally impaired, for God's sakes! And Alfred had defended him on that.

Alfred. Feliciano could only smile. Alfred had apologized earlier for getting him into that situation, and Feliciano had told him not to feel guilty about it. Alfred wore his emotions on his sleeve, and Feliciano liked him for that. Liked him a lot. Alfred wasn't afraid of being himself. He wasn't afraid of being honest. And that was something…that was something that set him apart from Ludwig. Ludwig had always stifled his emotions, even when the two of them had been alone. Feliciano had still loved him, but that had always been a sour point of their relationship. Ludwig refused to express himself honestly, and sometimes that left Feliciano wanting more.

It was almost like—a jolt of electricity sent him to his knees. He gasped for air. _What's happening? _His body felt like it was on fire, and he cried out. Then it receded as it quickly as it had come, leaving a dull thrum surging through him. A thrum. Magic? This was what Lovino had described to him, right? He stood up on trembling legs, muscles twitching from the unexpected energy rushing through him. Yes, this had to be it. His entire body felt so _alive._ Now he understood why his _fratello_ insisted on using the magic. It almost _hurt_ not to.

Feliciano looked around. The path he was on cut through a clearing, and he marched up to it, looking for something to attempt to use magic on, but there wasn't even a twig out of place. _Damn._ Oh! He reached into coat and withdrew his gun. Lovino could make things float, right? Telekinesis? Maybe Feliciano could do the same. He held the gun in his palm and concentrated on it. Lovino had told him that he just willed things to happen, and they did. Feliciano pictured the gun floating in midair, but it didn't move. Annoyed, he tried again. The same.

Frustrated, he thought, _Well, do something, you bastard!_ A sharp jolt of violet light pulsed through the gun. Feliciano almost dropped it. Holding it lightly, he looked it over. Nothing looked different. Confused, he turned the safety off and raised the gun. Immediately, a double ring of purple light appeared around the gun, over two feet in diameter. Within the ring were symbols Feliciano did not recognize. Completely lost, he lowered the gun, and the ring vanished. He brought the gun back up, and the ring reappeared. _Okay…what the hell did I do to my gun?_

Tentatively, he aimed the gun a tree. It was just a handgun. _What's the worst that could happen? _Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he pulled the trigger. The ring pulsed, a flash of light emitting from the barrel. The tree exploded. Feliciano flew backward, hitting the ground with a dull thump over ten feet away. The gun bounced to the ground harmlessly.

After several moments of dizziness and ringing ears, Feliciano sat up, his eyes slowly trailing from the gun to the smoking stump of the tree back to the gun and back to the tree again. Smoking splinters were raining down from the sky. Feliciano gaped. _Did I just blow up a tree? _A flaming twig landed in front of him.

A high-pitched laugh broke free from his throat. He nearly doubled over, tears in his eyes. "Oh…oh my God…" He said between laughs. "I blew up a _tree_!" He let himself roll onto his back, hints of laughter still resonating in his chest. His eyes met the overcast sky, and he relaxed onto the still wet ground. "Alfred's never going to believe this one."

* * *

**Dro: **I'm not sure why Feli finds that so hysterical, but whenever I read this, it makes me giggle.

**Next Chapter:** Italy and America play in the rain with an ominous ending. Russia and Canada play chess, with a less ominous ending. And England ends up very confused and frustrated.


	14. Taking a Rain Check

**Dro: **Sorry I didn't get this out earlier. I have a whole chapter of Comp Sci crap to read and take notes on. I ended up having to split it in half. Ick. Anyway, here you go. **Don't forget to drop me a review!** They are very much appreciated.

**Chapter Summary:** Feliciano's playful game ends with a terrifying revelation. Meanwhile, Ivan and Matthew play a revealing game of chess. Later, Arthur is subjected to more torment by his double, who then receives some exciting that news that he refuses to tell his frustrated alter self.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Alfred sank down next to Feliciano, holding the umbrella above them both. Feliciano was still restraining a smirk, and Alfred couldn't help but laugh. At first, he'd been terrified when the base was alerted about the nearby explosion. He hadn't been able to find Feliciano, and he'd thought the worst. Then when they'd arrived to find Feliciano still chuckling and seen the destroyed tree, everyone was completely confused. That is, except for him, Lovino, and Gilbert. Luckily, the humans hadn't accompanied them, and they quickly got Feliciano out of the area before anyone could ask questions.

Granted, now the other nations were asking questions. The four of them had been forced to explain the magic powers. Some people were overjoyed at the idea of having the enemy magic on their side. Others were horrified. Their impromptu meeting room had turned into a war zone, people screaming and threatening to throw a punch. Lovino had silenced them by flipping over the meeting table. With his mind. The demonstration had awed them, and when Lovino explained that he _would_ fight with this power, and that there was nothing anyone could do to stop him, no one could contradict him. How did you contradict someone who could move things with his mind?

Meeting adjourned, they'd all separated again. Alfred had ended up unwittingly watching Antonio—who felt completely betrayed by Lovino's secret (probably because Gilbert knew)—argue with the older Italy brother. It hadn't ended very well. Lovino had punched Antonio in the face (which ironically gave him a matching bruise to Lovino's) and stomped off angrily. Alfred had started to go after him, but he'd realize that Lovino was heading for Gilbert's room, and he'd backed off. Instead, Alfred decided to go look for _his_ Italy brother, and he'd found Feliciano sitting up against the building, watching as the sky darkened again. Alfred arrived just as it started to rain.

"You don't have to sit in the rain, you know?" Feliciano said.

"You don't either." Alfred replied, smiling softly.

They sat in comfortable silence for the longest time, Alfred periodically glancing at Feliciano's content face. "I'm sorry about last night, by the way."

Confused brown eyes turned toward him. "For what?"

"I overstepped my boundaries. I pushed you too far." It had been gnawing at him for a while. He hadn't meant to go so far with Feliciano, but he'd lost control of himself.

"I could've stopped you, but I didn't. We're both at fault here, so stop blaming yourself." Feliciano scooted closer to him. "It's kind of pointless to fight about this."

"You're right. It is."

Feliciano smiled. "Let's just enjoy the day."

"Not much a day to enjoy."

"The rain can be fun."

Alfred raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really now?"

Feliciano shot him a naughty smirk before leaning over and kissing him softly. Then he ripped the umbrella from Alfred's hands and leapt up, running off with it. "Catch me if you can!" He shouted, laughing all the way.

"Hey, get back here!" The rain started to soak his coat. "You little…!" He took off as Feliciano disappeared around a corner. He chased him around the base, weaving around buildings and jumping over obstructions. Feliciano was surprisingly light on his feet. Alfred had trouble keeping up with him. Feliciano headed around a building, and Alfred followed, only to find an empty space. He slid to a stop and looked around. _Tricky. Very tricky. But not tricky enough._ He glanced up to see Feliciano's head poking over the roof of the building. He stuck out his tongue teasingly and disappeared.

Chuckling, Alfred crouched and jumped as high as he could, catching the top of the building's window and heaving himself up. He climbed over the ledge and looked around for Feliciano, who could've been hiding behind any one of the many structures on the roof. Alfred started peering behind fans and vents, finding them all empty. A soft snicker aroused his attention. He turned around to see Feliciano standing on the ledge of the roof, right above a ladder. He blew a kiss and jumped off, grabbing onto the ladder and sliding down.

_Damn it! He's clever. _Alfred made to follow. He dashed over toward the ladder, passing by the small stairwell structure. From nowhere, a hand shot out and grabbed him, sealing his mouth shut. The hand pulled him back into the shadows of the stairwell, closing the heavy door behind him. In complete darkness, Alfred struggled madly, but he couldn't break free from the iron hold. Fear gripped him as he felt a knife dig into his hip.

"Hush, boy. We need to talk."

Alfred went rigid. He knew that voice. How could he forget it?

It belonged to Lucaster.

Feliciano ran as fast as he could and dived behind an SUV, waiting for Alfred to catch up to him. After several minutes, he started getting suspicious. Alfred hadn't been _that_ far behind, right? He peeked around the car. An empty parking lot greeted him. A few hundred feet away, the building he'd climbed up stood eerily silent. Alfred was not on top as far as he could see. So where had he gone? Suspicious, Feliciano stood up, tensed and ready for Alfred to jump out and scare him. Nothing happened.

_Okay. What's going on?_ Feliciano backtracked, searching for any sign of the man that had been following him just a few minutes ago. The dreary day now seemed ominous. Feliciano felt a spike of anxiety. What had happened to Alfred? He couldn't find any signs of anyone on the ground. He eyes scrutinized the roof again. Was Alfred playing some kind of joke? He could only hope. He walked slowly backed to the ladder and began to climb. His muscles froze as he made it to the top rung, nervousness blocking his commands to move. Eventually, he took a deep breath and kept going.

There wasn't a single sign of a person on the roof. Alfred _could_ have been hiding behind something, but that didn't seem like him. Alfred would know better than to scare him like this. He searched behind the fans and vents anyway, finding nothing. The only thing left was the stairwell, but if Alfred had heard him calling, he would've come out from behind it, right? He moved forward at a cautious pace, his body fully expecting to be attacked any second. He pushed himself flush against the concrete of the small structure, inching his way around it. Hesitantly, he peered around the corner.

Alfred sat hunched against the wall, face in his hands.

"Alfred?" Feliciano rushed over to him, dropping to his knees, the umbrella long forgotten. He shook Alfred lightly, not caring that the rain was soaking him through.

Alfred finally looked up. Feliciano almost fell over. There was a haunted look in Alfred's eyes, and Feliciano's stomach twisted tightly. "A—Alfred, what happened?"

"Uh…it's nothing. I have a migraine." Alfred swallowed at his obvious lie.

"What?" Feliciano had no idea what the point of lying was. He knew something had happened. "Don't lie. What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm not." Alfred's voice was cold now.

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Feliciano felt a burst of rage. He punched the concrete next to Alfred's head, the stone cracking beneath his fist. Alfred, shocked, looked at the damage.

"When did you get that strong?"

"When did you stop trusting me?" Feliciano snarled.

Alfred swallowed again. He couldn't tell Feliciano. He couldn't tell anyone. In reality, this was all working out for his plan, but, to undertake something like this carried major risks with it. If he messed up, people could die. If he went through with this at all, he could very well lose every friend he had. But it was the only way he foresaw a victory. The only way he could see saving Arthur. Alfred didn't want to look at Feliciano's hurt face, but something caught his eye. Feliciano had an odd expression on his face, one that quickly morphed into horror.

"One of _them_ was here."

"W—what?" _How does he know?_

"I can sense it. Their magic. One of them was here, Alfred." He gripped Alfred's shoulders roughly. "What did he do to you?"

Alfred was caught. If he lied to Feliciano now, the man would never forgive him. But if he told the truth, his plan might be ruined. But…but…No. He _could_ trust Feliciano. Granted, he could trust all his friends, but Feliciano was a different case. Feliciano _could_ play the part if Alfred needed him to. That was something that separated him from the others. Alfred knew he could keep up the act. Feliciano having knowledge of this might work out perfectly. He could fill the role Alfred needed him to. Of course, that depended on Feliciano actually _agreeing_ with his plan, which was a long shot. But Feliciano had him in a bind, so he didn't have a choice.

"Lucaster made me an offer. And I'm going to take it."

* * *

Matthew waited impatiently. His cold lunch sat on a tray on his nightstand, half-eaten. He hadn't really had much of an appetite with the medication he was taking. Thankfully, he was officially off bed rest in two more days. _Freedom._ He hated only being allowed up for bathroom breaks and baths. He felt fine, damn it! His only reprieve was having someone talk to, someone who was _late_ today. Groaning, he let himself fall backward on his bed, head hitting pillow with a soft thump.

Then a knock roused him again. Matthew didn't need to answer to know who it was. _Gee, late enough?_ Ivan walked through the door and closed it gently behind him.

"Matvey, how are you feeling today?"

"Same as everyday, Ivan. Perfectly fine."

Ivan chuckled. "You sound frustrated. Two more days of this, da?"

"Unfortunately."

"It is almost over. Just bear it." Ivan lifted up a wooden box and dropped it next to him.

"Oh. What's that?"

"My favorite chess set."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. He'd been playing chess with Ivan every day, but they'd been using Matthew's small plastic set. This set was an ornately carved masterpiece. Matthew was honestly afraid he was going to break something.

"You look nervous. Afraid of losing?"

Matthew shook his head. "Not at all."

In reality, they were dead even. Ivan had been surprised at his skills at first, but he had quickly risen to the challenge. They were split fifteen, fifteen now. Matthew cracked his fingers. "If I were you, I'd be the one afraid."

Ivan let out a throaty laugh. "We will see, Comrade Matvey. We will see."

And see they did. It was a tough game. Matthew took out all of Ivan's pawns, but Ivan took a knight and a rook. This was followed by Ivan swiping a bishop. Matthew took down both of Ivan's rooks in two turns, earning a groan from the taller man. By the end, they both had four pieces standing. Matthew moved his queen into position. Ivan smiled. _Oh crap._ Ivan moved his bishop, effectively blocking Matthew off and simultaneously putting his queen in the line of fire. Matthew tried to recover, but Ivan out-strategized him.

"Checkmate."

"Damn it." He huffed.

"I suppose this means I win our little bet."

Matthew pouted, trying to hold back his smile. Nodding, he leaned over the chess board and pressed his lips to Ivan's. Sweet and soft. He pulled back, meeting eyes the same shade as his own. Such a silly bet. Matthew would've kissed him anyway. It wasn't like he hadn't before. However, after that little fiasco with Al and Feliciano, Matthew had been abnormally paranoid about being intimate with Ivan. If Alfred happened to walk in on them making out, well…he didn't want to know how that would end. Despite the fact that Alfred and Ivan _officially_ got along these days, the two still had some animosity between them.

"You know, we could always try a more…_involved_ bet." Ivan winked.

Matthew felt his face go red. "Not while I'm on bed rest, you perv!" He smacked Ivan with the pillow.

"What happened to 'I'm fine'?" Ivan mimicked his voice.

Matthew pouted again. "You…you just shut up!"

Ivan laughed heartily. Annoyed, Matthew grabbed Ivan's coat and pulled him closer, sealing their lips together in a searing kiss. Ivan gasped, and Matthew slipped his tongue in. He watched Ivan's eyes go wide before they closed, the bigger man sliding the chess board out of the way so he could move closer. Matthew pulled back, grinning.

"I'm feeling kind of tired. Maybe tomorrow."

Ivan glared at him in disbelief. "You, Canada, are a tease."

Matthew stuck his tongue out and smirked. "So sad. Too bad. See you tomorrow, Ivan!" He laughed hysterically as Ivan got up and trudged out of the room, a bemused smile tugging at the larger man's lips.

"I will get revenge for this."

"We'll see." Matthew waved at him. "Bye bye!"

* * *

Arthur pushed back with all his might. His hands ached as he held them high, palms raised and cramping. His feet were braced against the floor, digging into the wood. Sweat rolled down his face and chest. His haggard breathing came out as shallow pants. His double stood across from him, arms crossed, looking board. The large steel block between them vibrated with the opposing magic, shifting in favor of the stronger of the two. There was an obvious victor here, but his double still hadn't let up. He wanted to see how long Arthur could hold out.

Arthur was pissed. The other him was just fooling around. The man was barely trying. There were no signs of any effort whatsoever about the man. Annoyed, Arthur pushed back even harder, his entire body straining at the exertion, but the block didn't budge. His double snorted.

"Come on now, Arthur. Try harder."

Arthur took a deep breath. His body was about to fucking break! He felt ready to shatter into a thousand pieces. He glared at his damned double, who grinned, a malicious glint in his eyes. The block lurched forward, completely breaking Arthur's hold on it. It shot toward him, and he barely had time to roll out of the way before it slammed into the ground where he'd been standing, completely destroying the floor.

Arthur picked himself up off the floor, the exhaustion nearly overtaking him. "What…what the hell is wrong with you? That could've killed me."

"Nonsense. I would've healed you."

And then there was that. Arthur had discovered his double's impressive healing abilities earlier in the day when an flying axe—courtesy of the man in front of him—had almost completely severed his arm. Instead of calling a medic, the man had just grabbed his arm, pumped in some energy, and healed it completely. That pissed Arthur off even more because the man had let him suffer with the back injury. Why? "_Oh, well, I didn't cause it, so that wasn't my responsibility."_

"Go to hell, you wanker."

The man clucked with his tongue. "That's not very nice, little me! You should be more polite."

"Oh, sod off!"

His double merely laughed and started to walk toward him but was cut off by a knock at the door. "Come in." His other self paused and stared at the door, watching with interest as Lucaster entered.

Arthur flicked his eyes back and forth. His double looked slightly confused, which meant he hadn't been expecting Lucaster at all. Said servant walked quietly up to his double and whispered in his ear. The man's face suddenly lit up, malice and excitement pairing up for a frightening expression the likes of which Arthur had never see before. His double turned his attention back to him, a knowing grin on his face that clearly read "I have a secret, and I'm not going to tell you!"

"That'll be all for today, little me. I'll see you again tomorrow." He winked. "I have some preparations to make for…well, you'll find out soon enough." He snapped his fingers, the steel block flying back to its place in the corner. "Lucaster, please escort our guest back to his quarters."

Lucaster met Arthur's gaze, and he smiled, playfully malignant. "Yes, sir."

* * *

**Dro:** Productive chapter. Alfred's plan has finally come to light. I finally slipped in RusCan, and I've set up Arthur for the shock of his life. =D

**Next Chapter:** Feliciano worries himself over what might happen to Alfred. Meanwhile, Lovino gets impatient when Gilbert is late and breaks his promise not to practice magic by himself. With some interesting results.


	15. Welcome to the Twilight Zone

**Dro:** I edited this kinda quickly. (Got a class in like fifteen 15 minutes). If you find any mistakes let me know. **And do review, please! **This story is straggling along in the review per chapter department.

**Chapter Summary:** Feliciano worries himself about the impending execution of Alfred's dangerous plan. Later, Lovino, annoyed at Gilbert's lateness, decides to practice his magic on his own. With interesting results. And a sad ending.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Alfred trailed his eyes back and forth, following Feliciano's pacing across the room. The man had been silent for hours now. It was starting to make Alfred very nervous. He'd explained his plan to Feliciano in full, and the immediate rage had ended up earning him a hard smack. His face throbbed. _Ow._ Now that Feliciano had finally calmed down, Alfred could tell he was actually considering it. If one could look past the obvious danger of walking right into enemy territory, it _was_ actually a good plan. That couldn't really be denied.

Alfred had been thinking about this for a week now. It haunted his dreams and consumed hours of his waking moments. He'd considered every possible outcome of going through with this (many of which, admittedly, ended quite badly). But executing a plan like could allow them to make some important gains. Like getting Arthur back. Just the thought of seeing Arthur again made Alfred smile. He missed the old man.

Feliciano let out a deep sigh. "Fine."

"Huh?" Alfred broke from his thoughts.

"I said, okay. I'll go along with your plan." He shifted uncomfortably, his arms tightly crossed across his chest. He agreed with Alfred's plan, but he sure wasn't happy about it. "How long did you say he gave you to decide?"

"A week."

Feliciano chewed on his lip. "So, when are you planning on…?"

"Friday."

Five days. Five days until Alfred risked his life. Feliciano felt his heart drop. He couldn't believe he was actually supporting this, but Alfred had a point. This was an unprecedented opportunity. Granted, when Alfred had first explained it to him, he'd thought the man was crazy. Hence the large, hand-shaped red mark on Alfred's cheek. He grimaced. He should've probably apologized for that by now, but he was at war with himself.

Alfred would be going behind enemy lines. _As_ the enemy. The number of things that could go wrong with this was astounding. Firstly, of course, there was the fact that Alfred really couldn't tell everyone what he was up to. Not only would they try to stop him, but the actual act of telling them would ruin the whole thing. There was no way they could all reliably act as though they felt betrayed by Alfred's fake switch to the enemy's side. The enemy nations would see right through a ruse like that.

Which, of course, meant Alfred would have to keep his plan a secret. And by keeping it a secret, it meant that everyone _would actually think_ that Alfred had betrayed them. Especially because Lucaster's visit meant the enemy knew their location. If Alfred suddenly "defected," everyone would think _he_ had told them. They would _hate_ him. And there was no guarantee that they'd forgive him when the truth came out. Feliciano wasn't sure _he_ would've forgiven Alfred if that had been the case. Alfred was going to deceive all of his friends right along with the enemy. This had the potential to ruin every friendship he had. Permanently.

And that was only the emotional risk.

The risk of bodily harm was even higher. If he failed to deceive the enemy, he'd be killed. Hands down. If he successfully deceived the enemy, he'd be fighting his friends, which could also result in his death. The risks Alfred was taking on here were…innumerable and terrifying, but…if he succeeded, they would win. If Alfred could infiltrate the enemy's base, gain their trust…he could free Arthur, who could potentially use his own magic to send the enemy home. Or, even if that failed, Alfred could potentially sabotage the airships from the inside. The kind of leverage he would gain on the enemy was incredible.

Feliciano had spent the last few hours weighing the risks and the gains. How could he say no to this? If Alfred succeeded, they would win. At the rate the enemy was destroying their countries, they would be completely destroyed within the span of the next few weeks. Alfred could potentially be the end game for this. He could stop them before they ruined the planet. He could…he could die…Feliciano's heart ached. He wanted nothing more than for Alfred to stay. He wanted to hold him and kiss him and…he just wanted Alfred to be safe.

But Alfred's safety did not outweigh the world. And as hard as it was for him to admit that, it was the truth and it would stay the truth. He turned to look at the man who had captured his damaged heart. Alfred's deep blue eyes met his, and he was lost in them again. Before he could stop himself, he was in Alfred's arms, kissing him with everything he had. Fingers tangled themselves in blond hair. Tongues met in heated battle. Shirts were tossed carelessly onto the floor; chests flushed together in a passionate embrace.

Thirty minutes later, he was sprawled on top on Alfred, the man's soft fingers drawing circles on his back. He brushed his fingers across Alfred's cheek, caressing the skin on his cheekbone. Blue eyes fluttered closed at the sensation.

"Promise me something." He murmured.

"Anything."

"Don't die."

Alfred's strong eyes opened again, revealing a spark of fierce determination along with a soft smile. "I won't."

"Promise?"

Alfred leaned over and brushed their lips together. "Swear."

Feliciano lost track of time after that, but he really couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted stay with Alfred like this, wrapped in the man's arms, the object of his love, forever. He dreaded the impending shattering of the dream he'd been living for the last few days. The dream where someone understood him. The dream where someone could see right through his façade. The dream where someone truly _knew _him. The dream that only Alfred had ever pulled him into.

The dream that could, in the next few days, crumble beneath his feet and leave him standing in an abyss of dust and broken promises for the rest of his life.

* * *

Lovino knew something was wrong. He hadn't quite figured out what it was, but he could feel it every time he passed his brother in the hallway. Feliciano still wasn't speaking to him, as Lovino's still black eye reminded him, but he knew his brother, and he knew something wasn't quite right. And it had happened recently. Of course, his first thought had been that that bastard America had done something to hurt his _fratello_, in which case Lovino was ready to open a can of whoop ass on that stupid blond. But since he couldn't be sure of this, he'd managed to restrain himself.

Just barely.

It didn't help that he could easily spot the hickeys on Feliciano's neck whenever they got within five feet of each other. It certainly didn't help that that stupid hamburger bastard was almost always walking _with_ his brother. But somehow Lovino had managed to keep his anger in check. Partly because of Gilbert.

Okay, totally because of Gilbert.

He still wasn't sure what had actually happened between them, but every time he saw the man, every time they spoke, every time they touched at all, this feeling of intense warmth and calmness would well up inside his chest. It was confusing as hell, but it sure was helpful in keeping him from breaking America's face in. Lovino shook his head. Everything had become so confusing in the last few days. His brother was dating America (how the hell had that happened again?), Antonio wasn't speaking to him (and he couldn't figure out why), and Gilbert kept hanging around him (not that he minded, but it was kind of weird).

He took a deep breath. He'd promised he'd wait for Gilbert to arrive before he started working on his magic skills, but he was just itching to try some new things out. He was almost sure he'd teleported last night. Straight into a bookshelf. But still, progress! Now if only he could figure out how he'd done it. It certainly hadn't been out of effort. He'd been walking with a bottle of water back to his room, had gone to levitate the water onto his desk, and then had found himself slamming face first into the damned bookshelf. His nose still hurt. And his eye (but that was Feliciano's fault).

Gilbert still hadn't shown up. He tapped his foot impatiently on the blacktop. Gilbert had promised to meet at 7:00, so where was the bastard? He knew the man had had a meeting with his bosses earlier, but still. Lovino groaned. _You know what? Fuck it._ _I'm practicing by myself._

He paused to consider how he wanted to go about this. Teleporting couldn't be so different from telekinesis. If he will himself to show up somewhere else, he would, right? He glanced around, locating a large yellow spray-painted square at the other end of the parking. _So, just think about appearing in the square. Appear in the square. Appear in the square. _He felt a sharp tug on his body before a wall suddenly came out of nowhere. He braced himself, slamming right into and bouncing off.

He fell backward and rolled over, groaning. "What the hell was that?" He pushed himself off the ground, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. He found the square right in front of him. "Oh." He'd overshot it by about five feet. _Teleportation must take some kind of precision I lack or something. _He stood up again, keeping his eyes on the square. _Let's try something different._

Instead of telling his body to move, he pictured himself standing in the square. He felt the sharp tug again and clinched his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he was in the direct center of the square. "Aha! Success!" He celebrated his victory. "Now let's see how far I can push this."

After a few more mishaps, he started to get the hang of it. It took a lot of concentration. He had to actively picture himself anywhere he wanted to go, and if he didn't do it, he overshot the distance and ended up almost hurting himself. Once he'd finally gotten into the groove of it, he started getting more bold. He teleported to the roof and back to the ground. And back up. And back down. He laughed. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. D—Gilbert. He tripped on his feet as Gilbert emerged from the door with a loud bang, the man immediately noticing him on the roof.

But it was too late. He tripped and fell. Gilbert shouted. Lovino tried to teleport himself somewhere else. And ended up in Gilbert's chest. _Oops._ Gilbert reeled backward at the force of Lovino hitting him and tumbled over into a puddle of water. Lovino crawled off him quickly and offered his hand.

"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Gilbert cracked his eye open. "Ja. How about you?" He sneered.

"Ah…I'm good."

"I can see that."

Lovino chuckled sheepishly, knowing he was in big trouble.

"Lovi."

"Yeah?"

"What did I tell you about practicing on your own?"

Lovino coughed. "Don't do it?"

Gilbert glared at him.

"I'm sorry, but you were late, and I'm impatient. You know that."

"Do I ever." Gilbert hauled himself up and held up his dripping sleeves. "Thanks, by the way. I _just_ got this washed."

"I said I was sorry!" Lovino huffed, his face burning.

Gilbert shook his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

Lovino crossed his arms. "Stop talking about me like I'm a child."

"Then stop acting like one. Patience is important, _kid_."

Lovino stared at him in disbelief. "You're one to talk. Weren't you the rash brother?"

Gilbert frowned, and Lovino knew he'd let the wrong thing slip out. "I _was_. Yes. But that was when I still had a _bruder_. Now I do not. And we're in a war. Responsibility comes in many forms. One of them is often patience."

Lovino swallowed. "I…I'm sorry…" He hadn't meant to upset him like this. _Dio, why am I so stupid?_

Gilbert's expression softened. "I know you are." He rubbed the back of his head. "Just, next time, can you please wait for me? Please?"

Lovino's felt an odd flutter in his stomach. "Okay."

Gilbert smiled. "Now, how about you show me what the hell you just did?"

Lovino grinned. "Watch this." He teleported across the parking lot, back into the yellow square. "Cool, huh?"

Gilbert whipped around at the sound of his voice, startled to see Lovino over twenty feet away. "How the hell…?" A sense of excitement filtered into his features. "Do it again."

Lovino smiled wider. "Sure thing." He spent the next fifteen minutes showing Gilbert what he could do with teleportation. He'd mastered up to about twenty-five feet. The further he tried to go, he'd learned, the harder it was to appear in an exact location. He appeared behind Gilbert and tapped him on his shoulder before disappearing again, Gilbert turning around and finding no one there. The man chuckled as he turned back around to find Lovino standing right in front of him.

"That is fucking awesome, you know?"

Lovino winked but instantly regretted it when an odd look came over Gilbert's face. Thankfully, Gilbert shook it off. "Say, do you think you can take others with you?"

"Huh? You mean, can I teleport other people?"

"Yeah."

Lovino considered. "Technically speaking, probably. But I don't know how,"

"Try." Gilbert offered his hand. Lovino took it, unsure of what exactly he was supposed to do. He guessed it would be the same concept, just…picture both himself _and_ Gilbert in the other location? Worth a try. He looked back to his now favorite place, the yellow square. He concentrated on the energy, feeling it flow through him. He pictured the two of them in the middle of the square.

Gilbert suddenly gasped, and Lovino realized that his magic had flowed into Gilbert. He concentrated harder, willing it to take them where he wanted to go. The sharp tug felt even harder this time, and he found himself staring into Gilbert's wide red eye a moment later.

Directly in the middle of the yellow square.

"Holy…" Gilbert whispered, looking around in disbelief.

Lovino laughed nervously. "I can't believe that actually worked."

"You're amazing." Gilbert murmured.

Lovino's faced heated up. "N—no, I'm not. The magic just…does it for me. It's nothing special about me."

"Yes. Yes it is, Lovi. You…you are just…amazing. To gain these kinds of abilities so quickly…" Gilbert was looking down at him with adoration.

"S—stop saying that."

"Why?" Gilbert smirked, winking. "Can't handle the truth?"

_Jesus! Is he flirting with me?_ Oh, Gilbert was totally flirting with him. Lovino was sure his face was about to spontaneously combust. Then he realized he was still holding Gilbert's hand, and he tried to pull back, but Gilbert gripped it harder.

"You're blushing." Gilbert teased.

"I know! Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"You know what!" He glared at the other man. "Stop flirting with me."

"Is it making you uncomfortable?"

No, it was making very—very—comfortable, but Lovino would never admit that. He went to yell at Gilbert again when a finger brushed across his lips, silencing him. Gilbert stared down at him, desire pooling in his eye. Lovino swallowed, feeling that same desire spike in his stomach. He didn't know when his restraint finally broke, and he didn't particularly care after the fact either. All he knew was that Gilbert's lips were moving hotly against his own, hands gripping his hips sensually. Both of his hands were messing up Gilbert's silvery white hair, tugging harshly. They stumbled back against the building, their bodies pressing together in a heated embrace. Lovino found himself lost in the sensation of Gilbert's passionate lips caressing his own, and he let his mind completely drain of all other thoughts as it overwhelmed him.

He didn't know how long it was before he finally realized they weren't alone. But by the time he did, he knew it was already too late to prevent the impending doom of the relationship he'd been building since he was a child.

Antonio stood in the doorway, hurt so deeply ingrained into his expression that Lovino thought it would haunt him forever.

* * *

**Dro: **I would advise you to stay tuned for next chapter. I am really, really loving it at the moment (finished it about 30 minutes ago). And I hope you will too. It throws two huge twists in! Let me explain!

**Next Chapter:** After having a terrible fight Antonio, Lovino runs off and has an emotional breakdown that ends in disaster. Meanwhile, Arthur is invited to dinner with his double, who makes some..._provocative_ suggestions.


	16. A Dinner for Two

**Dro: **You know, I'm not the biggest Spamano fan in the world, but even I find this chapter kind of heartbreaking. Anyway, have at it. By the way, you guys did great with **reviews** last chapter. So, in terms of **reviews**, keep up the **reviews**. Okie-dokie?

**Chapter Summary:** Romano tries to apologize to Spain. With irreparable consequences. Meanwhile, Arthur is forced into an impromptu dinner with his double, who makes some _provocative _suggestions.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language, Innuendo

**Disclaimer: **Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Antonio would not speak to him. Lovino couldn't blame him. After all, he'd forsaken the relationship they'd been developing since he was a child in favor of a man that he'd always believed had hated him. If he'd been on the other side of this door, he'd be just as upset. He _had_ betrayed Antonio. He needed to apologize. Antonio probably wouldn't forgive him, and Lovino didn't expect him to, but that didn't mean the man should lock him out and not even let him say he was sorry!

He pounded on the door again. "Antonio, let me in! Please."

No response.

Frustrated, he turned around and slid down the door, leaning against it. Antonio would have to come out eventually, right? So he would wait. Patience was important, right? That's what was Gilbert had been telling him. He laughed dryly. _That's right, Lovino. Use what your new love interest taught you to help you with the one you cheated on. _He banged his head against the door.

"Come on, you stupid tomato bastard." He murmured. "Let me in." He'd never seen Antonio quite that mad before. The man had fucking _punched_ Gilbert in the face. He wanted to smack Antonio for that (or better yet, return the punch). This wasn't Gilbert's fault. It was Lovino's. There was no reason to punish Gilbert for Lovino's sin. He intended to make sure Antonio knew that—after he apologized. Or was it better to tell him that before he apologized? Lovino ran his hands through his hair. Why was he so awful at things like this?

He sat against the door for over an hour, hearing the shuffle of Antonio's feet as he moved across the room. But he never moved toward the door, and he never bothered to make a reply. That hurt. Lovino supposed he deserved it. He just wanted to make thing better, damn it! "Please just open the door, Antonio." He said. But the only thing that seemed to hear it was the empty hallway.

The next thing Lovino knew, he was being shaken awake by a familiar figure. "Eh, France?"

Francis frowned down at him. "You were sleep. Are you planning on staying here for the night?" He eyed Antonio's door, suspicious.

"Uh…" He'd wanted to stay until Antonio finally emerged, but it was now late, and he was tired, and Antonio hadn't made so much as a sound. "I guess not." He stood up, his knees cracking.

Francis frowned deeper. "Something has happened?" He flicked his eyes back and forth from Lovino to Antonio's door, leaving out the obvious "between you."

"It's none of your business, Francis."

"We will see. I am one of Antonio's best friends. I'm sure he will tell me why he has barred you from his room." Francis raised an eyebrow. "Unless you choose to do so."

"I said," Lovino replied, "It's none of your business, you French bastard!"

"Don't be rude to me, boy. My only desire is to help my friends. Surely even you can understand that."

"Perfectly." He said coldly. "But this is between me and Antonio. Not you." He backed away from the door and turned to leave.

"And Gilbert."

He froze. "W-what did you say?" He whipped around to glare at Francis, who's smile was bitter and angry.

"This is between you and Antonio _and _Gilbert, right?"

"This has nothing to with—"

"Oh, doesn't it? Do you think no one notices what's going on between you and Gilbert? It is painfully obvious that you have been two timing Antonio for quite some time."

Lovino balked at the accusation. "What the fuck? You think I've been sleeping with Gilbert on the side? I have never _slept_ with Gilbert, despite what your fucked up French mind might tell you."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. Deny that. But will you deny that you are cheating Antonio? Will you deny that he discovered your transgressions and that is why he has locked himself away?"

Lovino paled. "I…that's not…" God damn it! He'd only kissed Gilbert _once_. France was acting like they'd be going at it for weeks now.

Francis chuckled. "That's what I thought." His eyes narrowed. "I would suggest you stay away from Antonio from now on. Many of my friends have been harmed because of this damned invasion. I will not allow Antonio to be tormented by a cheap Italian_ whore_."

Lovino saw red. France flew backward and slammed into the wall, the concrete cracking. He coughed out all his air at the sound of ribs cracking. Lovino teleported to him, his hand tightening around Francis' neck. He stared straight into Francis' terrified blue eyes. "Don't you _ever_ call me that again!" He screamed.

Through the fear, Lovino saw defiance. Enraged, he drew his hand back, ready to pound France's face in. A hand grabbed his wrist. He whipped his head around, ready to tell whoever it was to fuck off.

It was Antonio.

Lovino's words died on his lips, his eyes meeting Antonio's furious ones. "An—" Antonio heaved him away from Francis and forced him into the opposite wall. "Ah?" He bounced off and fell to the floor, his knees screaming as they smashed into the hard tile. Stunned, he slowly rose to his feet. Antonio stood before him, a type of rage Lovino had _never_ seen before simmering in the man's green eyes. From his periphery, he saw Francis watching the confrontation in disbelief.

"Antonio…please listen to me."

"Do not speak to me so familiarly."

"What?" Lovino was shaking.

"You have lost that right."

"But…"

"Leave. Now."

"But…"

"Leave or I will have you arrested for assaulting Francis!"

"He called me a—!"

"Whore? I heard." Anotnio's eyes were cold. "An apt description."

"You…" Something shattered inside Lovino's chest. This wasn't what he'd wanted. He'd wanted Gilbert romantically, sure, but Antonio was…Antonio was more than romance. He was friendship. He was kinship. He was mentorship. He was… "How can you say that me?"

No one said anything for several seconds. Francis stared with wide eyes. He obviously hadn't expected Antonio to be capable of saying such things to Lovino. Lovino hadn't either.

"Because it's the truth." There was no emotion in Antonio's voice.

"Antonio…" Francis whispered. "That's enough." Even Francis knew this had gone too far. If they kept going, this would become irreparable. He'd wanted to protect Antonio's feelings, not turn him into a coldhearted monster!

"Is it?"

Lovino was on the verge of tears. "You bastard. How dare you say that to me!" He took two steps forward. "Yes, I admit I kissed Gilbert. Yes, I admit I have feelings for Gilbert. But do you honestly think I've been cheating on you for weeks or something stupid like that? I didn't even realize my own feelings until earlier today!"

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes! Trust me."

"No. Never again."

"Ah…" Lovino was speechless.

Francis was starting to panic. "Let's…let's just let this go for tonight, all right? We're all emotionally frazzled, and we need rest, and…"

"You bastard! You fucking bastard! I've spent nearly my entire life with you, and yet you so easily lose faith in me? How dare you! How dare you! Are you forgetting when you and Francis got drunk that time, huh? Or your stupid feelings for my brother? And I stayed with you! Yet you lose faith in me for a fucking kiss?"

Lovino's head hit the floor. He laid there, dazed, for several seconds. _What just…what just…?_ He sat up, his entire body shaking. A hand rose of its own will and cupped his cheek. It throbbed under his touched. The pain suddenly reached his brain. And it registered.

Antonio had hit him.

He'd kicked and head-butted and smacked and punched Antonio all his life. But never, in his entire life, had Antonio hit him back. His tears finally broke from their dams, pouring down his face as he choke back a high-pitched sob. Antonio stood in front of him, his palm still outstretched. He seemed frozen, his eyes no longer narrowed with rage but wide with confusion. And fear. And horror. Francis sat perfectly still, gaping. Dismayed. Never in his darkest thoughts had he'd considered Antonio capable of…

Lovino lost it. He pulled to himself to his feet and ran as fast his legs could take him, not caring when clipped the corner with his shoulder or bounced off the wall. Tears obscured his vision, but he kept running. In the distance, he heard frantic footsteps.

"Lovi!"

He spotted the parking lot through a window. The yellow square. He pulled himself from the hallway and deposited himself outside, coming to a halt. He collapsed onto his knees, heaving sobs breaking free from his chest. He dropped to his side and curled up, hugging his knees. He rocked back and forth, not caring who heard him as he cried. No one emerged from the building during his entire breakdown. When it was finally over, he uncurled himself and let his exhausted body rest on the ground. Gravel dug into his face, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

He closed his eyes. His mind was still reeling with negative emotions, but he didn't have the energy left to cry anymore. He supposed he should have been attempting to get up and go back inside. No doubt the word had spread that he'd "disappeared." He didn't want everyone to worry. Especially not Gilbert or Feliciano. They had enough to worry about already. Finally, he pushed himself into a sitting position, his eyes still closed.

A hand clamped down over his mouth. He screamed, his voice muffled. Another hand wrapped around his waist, pinning him. He struggled wildly, calling up his magic to anything. But another magic force pressed back.

"I've been l'king f'r you f'r a l'ng t'me now, boy-o." A voice whispered into his ears. Chills shot down Lovino's spine. "I do b'lieve you h've s'mething that bel'ngs to me."

* * *

Arthur wanted to rip the damn coat off and burn it. He _hated_ this. He looked in the mirror at himself, dressed like one of _them_. His double had insisted on dining with him tonight, and Siphone had been sent to make him "presentable." Which apparently meant dressing him like a doll until he looked even _more_ like his double. Granted, his double's usual uniform was solid black with a white cloak as opposed to the white coat the other three wore, but _still_. If they dropped him back to Earth now, he'd probably be gunned down the moment anyone caught sight of him.

The whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth. His double was being far too cryptic about this whole affair. He'd told Arthur earlier during hell…er…training…that he had an important announcement he wanted to say over their one on one dinner. Arthur absent-mindedly straightened his collar. Siphone then knocked on the door. How did he know it was her? Because she always knocked in _song_.

"Hey, Artie!" She skipped in, skidding to a stop and gaping in awe before bursting into a bright smile. "You look just the boss!" She teleported into a full on hug. "You're so handsome!"

_Please let me go. Please let me go. Please me let go._ He repeated in his mind. "Ah, thanks, Siphone."

Finally, she let him go, flashing a devious smile. "You know, if you ever want any alone time with me, you just have to ask." She winked.

"Uh…"

She burst into a fit of giggles. "I'm just kidding! The boss would smite if I laid a hand on you. He wants you all to himself!" She pouted.

Arthur wasn't sure what was creepier. That his double apparently _wanted_ him, or that he could apparently _smite_ people. _All right. That's it. I'm convinced. My double is actually God, and this entire thing is divine punishment for my pirate years. Yep. That's got to be it._ He held his tongue.

"Anywho! Let's go! The boss is probably waiting for you!" She grabbed his hand and tugged him out into the hallway. On the way to his double's private dining room, they passed Lucaster, who shot him a knowing smirk. _Bastard._ Obviously, this all had something to do with what Lucaster had told his double the day before.

The dining room was extravagant, filled with artifacts and riches from several countries. Probably from several different worlds. His double sat at the end of the table, dressed in his usual uniform. His cloak hung from the back of his chair. Siphone bowed lightly and skipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. His double motioned to the chair next to him. He pulled it out and sat down, frowning. The assortment of food made his mouth water. He could get through this. _Just concentrate on the delicious food, Arthur. _

"So, you're probably wondering why I've called you here tonight."

"I'm assuming it has something to with Lucaster's information from yesterday?"

His double smiled, picking up a glass of red wine and running his finger around the rim. "Keen observation. That's partly why you're here. I have a very special announcement to make concerning that." He sat the glass back down. "However, I have a few others thing I'd like to get through first. But before we start with that, we should probably eat."

Arthur didn't voice his confusion, but he was suspicious. What else was his double plotting? They ate in silence for about twenty minutes, Arthur taking his fill. He spied his parallel self staring at him several times, and it was starting to make him uncomfortable. Maybe Siphone hadn't been joking. What if his double actually _wanted_ him? _Oh God, that would be so creepy!_ He shook off that thought and sipped his own wine.

Finally, his double leaned back in chair and looked longingly out the window. Arthur shifted in his seat. "So, what is it you wanted to discuss with me?"

"Personally, I would like to get to know you better."

"Uh…" _Oh crap. Oh crap. Please don't suggest anything creepy._

"I mean, I'm well aware of your history by this point. However, I really want to _know_ you."

_Okay, that kind of qualifies. _He eyed the door. _I wonder if I could make a run for it. _He remembered his double's powers. _Never mind._ "We could…chat."

His double shook his head. He took his eyes off the window and met Arthur's slightly panicked gaze. Then he leaned toward Arthur, and Arthur leaned away. But his back hit the back of the chair, and he couldn't go anywhere else. "No. No. That's not what I mean, Arthur."

Arthur gulped. "Then what do you mean?"

"Most of these things normal people do to learn of each other…They're too impersonal for people like us. We have such animosity between us, and I personally believe it's because we know so little of each other."

"So, what are you suggesting?"

"I need to be more intimate with you." His double murmured, eyes half-lidded.

_Bloody fucking Jesus Christ!_ Arthur almost leapt from his seat. But his double's hands stopped him, cupping his cheeks gently. _This is not happening to me! This is not happening to me! I am not about to get raped by myself! _His double leaned in closer, pressing their foreheads together. Arthur froze at the contact. His met his double's eyes directly, identical green irises staring back at each other. Arthur began to feel mesmerized. Something was moving inside his double's eyes. Something bright and foreign and powerful. He couldn't look away. He couldn't even try. He wanted to resist, but he couldn't move!

His double's voice—low, sultry, and hushed—was the last straw. All desire for resistance left him, and he sat malleable in his double's hands like a broken doll. Hot breath blew over his lips and cheeks as his puppeteer whispered his command. "Share your memories with me, Arthur."

* * *

**Dro:** Okay, admit it, I totally had you guys going there for a minute! xD That was _not_ the last line you were expecting, was it? -chuckles- I had fun with that.

**Next Chapter:** Arthur relives his most vivid memories, revealing something startling about his emotional state throughout his life. (Sorry, no Lovi-kidnapping for two more chapters. The memory exchange, _especially the chapter after next_, should be more than enough for you to forgive me however. -wink- Especially. The Chapter. After. Next.)


	17. Dream a Little Dream of Me I

**Dro:** Well, here's part one of the long-awaited memory exchange. Most of it is based-loosely-on actual historical events. Anyway, have at it, and keep up the good work with **reviews**!

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur relives his past from beginning to present, honing in on some of his most vivid memories.

**Warnings:** Sex (twice), language, violence

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

_They were chasing him again. His knees, bloodied from several falls, ached as he darted around trees and leapt over thorn bushes. He could hear them begin to close in on them. If they caught him, who knows what they'd do? Last time they'd attacked him, his face had been bruised for weeks. Why were they so cruel? What had he done to deserve this kind of treatment? _

_ He screamed as his leg caught on a thorny vine, the needle-like points tearing at his skin, and he tumbled down a hill and into a stream. He rolled over to get up when a boot descended on him, forcing his face back into the water. He flailed wildly, trying to get the foot off him. He could breathe! His air rushed out of his lungs, and he started feeling faint. He couldn't hold his breath anymore, but if he breathed in, he'd die! _Somebody help me! They're going to kill me!

_The pressure left his back, and a hand grabbed his shirt, hauling him out of the water. He coughed, gasping as he tried to get air into his burning lungs. He was tossed backward and landed on a bed of rocks, but he was too lightheaded to care about the pain. Blurred vision caught sight of the approaching pair of them. The redheaded one knelt down beside him and patted his head._

"_Did you really think I was wanting to kill you? A wee lad like you? You should be thinking better than me of that, lad."_

"_Leave me alone." He curled up into a ball. "You just want to beat me again!"_

"_Eh? Well, if that's what you be wanting…" The man rolled his eyes._

"_I just want you to leave me alone!" He yelled. "Why are you so cruel to me?"_

"_How no?" The man snickered. "I'm just wanting a bit of entertainment."_

"_You think beating me is enjoyable?"_

"_It's not the beating, lad. It's the chase. Maybe if you start standing your ground, I'd be getting bored of you, but instead you just run on and on, and chasing you is amusing."_

"_You…you…"_

"_Just hit him and get on with it. Nothing but a little coward, he is." The other man strolled up behind him. They were both so much bigger than him. Why was he so small? Why were they so mean? "Barely a real land, he is. Pathetic." He spat. "Just kick him one good round, Scotland."_

"_Aye, Wales, if that's what you be wanting to see." _

_England closed his eyes just as the foot descended on him._

_

* * *

_

_He awoke to the sounds of killing and bloodshed. He leapt out of his bed and pulled on the only clothing he could find. If hung off his shoulders, but at least if covered the vitals. He pulled on his only pair of shoes and wrenched the heavy wooden door open, freezing as he saw the carnage around him. Broken windows, destroyed floors, bodies. He gulped, his eyes trailing down the hallway until he saw them._

_Vikings._

_The man in the middle, blond, tall, and imposing, was obviously the leader. He had rounded up a group of the monks and was yelling at them. One of the monks spotted him, and immediately motioned for him to run away. But the leader saw it and turned around. England's entire body tensed as those cold blue eyes spotted him. This man was not just a Viking. He was a country!_

_He ran. He barreled down the corridor and stumbled out the door, nearly tripping all the way down the steps. He ran past the fences and past the grounds and into the forest, loud footsteps following him all the way. Thorns tore at his face, and the skin on his hands burned as he used them to swing around trees. The other country was still pursuing him. He had to get away. He didn't know for sure what the man would do to him, but he couldn't imagine it would be anything short of forced servitude or death._

_Finally, the sounds of pursuit stopped, and England slowed down. He looked around through the shadowy forest, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. He turned around, running straight into the tall man, who grabbed him._

"_No, let me go!" He struggled to pull away, but the man had an iron grip. "No!" Something heavy and blunt hit the back of his head, and England knew no more. _

_

* * *

_

_He watched the scene unfold from a distance, his body aching with every blow. The Danes were powerful. Too powerful. The spring had come and removed the last barrier stopping their advancing conquest of his lands, and now his people were left to their mercy. The ground was stained red as his people were slaughtered, his army falling three, four men at a time to these brutish invaders. _

_Everyone invaded him. They ransacked his home and tormented his people, and when the nation himself found little England—and he always did—he'd end up beaten to within an inch of life or kidnapped. _

_A glint of metal caught his eye, and he spotted the country he'd been looking for. Denmark stood in the middle of the carnage, axe drawn and coated in blood. English blood. Denmark was looking past the English army, past the battle he would inevitably win, and directly at England himself. England dared to meet his eyes. He was tired now. Tired of this treatment. _

_He turned and walked away, knowing the brutal Danish man would eventually catch up to him to inflict more pain. _

_

* * *

_

_Arthur—as he'd been dubbed—stomped into the courtyard. _How dare that French bastard talk to me that way! _He was getting fed up with spending all this time in France. His current king certainly wasn't the worst, but the man spent more time in France than he did in England, and it was all the more upsetting because he was determined to bring Arthur along for the ride. He snorted. Arthur. Why did they insist on calling him that?_

_He plopped down on the damp earth and watched the clouds go by. The French landscape surely was beautiful, but he had a constant longing for home. Every time he ventured far from his homeland, there was a melancholy pressure in his chest. He sighed._

"Angleterre._ Are you still angry toward me?" France stood a few feet behind him._

"_I will always and forever be angry toward you, you pompous fool!" England snapped. "How could you even say those kinds of things to me? You made such obscene suggestions!"_

_France chuckled. "Ah, but _Angleterre_, I only speak my wishes and desires."_

_England's face started to get warm. France was surely not serious. He couldn't be…that was…acts like that with other men? "You…what kind of vile creature are you?" He sat up and reached for his sword. "Stay away from me or I will attack you."_

_France just laughed. "Ah, _mon cher_, you are most amusing and adorable."_

"_You speak of me as if I'm some woman."_

_France shook his head. "No, just a child. You understand little about this world and even less about what you are."_

"_I'm not a child, and I know what I am."_

"_Do you? I do not think so. If you did, you would not see me as disgusting in the least. But I can see it in your eyes, that you believe yourself to be the same as the humans around you. You are not. And will never be. And what they believe does not strictly apply to you. Remember that, _Angleterre." _He started walking away._

"_W—wait!" England didn't know why he was calling France back. Perhaps his curiosity got the best of him. _

"Oui?"

"_I…I want to know what you're talking about. Tell me more."_

"_Come to my chamber tonight. And I will tell you _everything_."_

_Hours later, in the dead of night, when he lay on his back, flushed against France's naked body as the man rid him of his infernal innocence, England's mind finally broke free of its barrier and expanded to encompass the whole of the Earth. Each kiss, each thrust, each stroke was a lesson he should've learned long before. As he pulled France in for a sloppy and passionate kiss, warring with the older man's tongue, England thought he may have finally something to expunge his eternal loneliness from him._

_If only he hadn't been so, so wrong. _

_

* * *

_

_Blood seeped from his nose. As usual in these days. His back ached from bedsores, but he made no attempt to move. He couldn't. His body was bruised and battered and beaten and…a tear slid down his cheek. France had betrayed him. He had come to try and sate the man, to try and apologize for the idiocy of his stupid king, but France…France had been…France had…had taken his lands…had…France…_

_

* * *

_

_He stood on the outskirts of London, watching the clouds go by. His torso was bare, but he couldn't have cared less. He did not shudder even when the frigid winds passed him by and skirted over his exposed body. His scarred body. So scarred. A king murdered. People fighting back and forth for the crown. Unhappy bickering aristocrats. And then, finally, they'd started getting along enough to win. They'd beaten down the Scots, the French! Then…then…_it_ had come._

It _had killed so many. So many that England was sure his lands would be void of people in just a few years. So many that he was sure he would never win anything again. So many he was sure he would never recover from his awful sickness. So many he was sure his country would never rise again. So many that he thought himself completely empty, devoid of all emotion and feelings and desires and dreams._

_So empty._

_So dark._

_So bleak._

_So black._

_But _it_ was the Black Death, and so_ it_ lived up to his name. _

_

* * *

_

_The next hundred years went by in a blur. Two roses fighting, painting his country red with blood and black with disaster. He lay incapacitated in a small, dirty room for more years than he could comprehend. He bled and he suffered and he watched as young princes were murdered and his kings battled with rebels. When it finally ended, he woke up to a new world and a new dynasty, and yet another man called Henry. But this man was different. _

"_Who are you?"_

"_Henry VII. Of the Tudors."_

_

* * *

_

_He breathed the fresh ocean air as they closed in on the cape. He had needed a break from English political life, and his new Stuart king had granted him one. Becoming a privateer. How long had he desired this kind of adventure? The wish felt like it had been lingering for centuries. He briefly recalled a time where he wanted nothing more than to return home and stay, but that time had long passed. _

_His lookout spotted their target in the distance. The French merchant ship had no idea they were coming. Arthur smiled. A little birdie had told him that _Francis_ might just be aboard this particular ship. He called to his men, telling them to prepare for battle. It would be a short one, he was sure._

"_Captain Kirkland!" _

"_What?" He spun on his heels, the feather on his hat bobbing up and down, as one of his men stopped breathlessly in front of him. "There's another ship! It was a trap!" Arthur took the spyglass and looked to where the man was pointing. A destroyer had appeared in the distance and was moving to flank his ship. Arthur pouted for a moment before breaking into a wicked grin._

_He looked back at the merchant ship. "Well, if that's the game you want to play, Francis, then I'll play it."_

_Three hours later he stood on the deck of his ship, blood soaked into his already crimson coat. He watched in amusement at the two French ships, blazing and sizzling as the flames touched the water, slowly sank to the bottom of the ocean. He turned around to face the man behind him, meeting Francis' furious blue eyes._

"_What do you say we have ourselves a nice long talk, Francis?"_

_Francis paled. _

_

* * *

_

_Arthur stared down at the boy in amazement. Huge, blue, innocent eyes attached to a body that was barely old enough to walk looked up at him. The child had grabbed his coattails and pulled him to a stop. _Now, how did he manage to do that? _This boy was barely out of infancy, so how he could hold Arthur back? All of sudden, his memory came back to him. _Of course_,_ it's the new country Finland spoke of. _He'd seen the boy once already. His memory was starting to fail him._

_He squatted down next to the boy. "Can I help you, little one?"_

"_You're the one called England, right?"_

"_Indeed." _

"_Am I going to grow up to be like you?"_

_Arthur's eyes widened. _God, I certainly hope not._ He had many enemies, but he would never wish some of the events in his history on anyone. _"_Not exactly. Every country grows up different."_

_The boy pouted. "But what if I don't grow up right like you?"_

_Something struck his chest. How could anyone consider England's life 'growing up right?' He held out his arms. "Come here."_

_The boy hesitated, but he eventually let Arthur pick him up. Arthur hugged him tightly and spoke softly in his ear. "I assure you that you will grow up far more right than I did."_

_

* * *

_

_His knees sank into the mud, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His tears mixed with the thundering rain, weighing down his drenched body that much more. He couldn't bring himself to look the boy in the eye. He was a failure of a guardian. And he'd lost his chance at a true relationship again. Again. After so many tries and so many failures. He'd had a child this time, a child that had trusted him and loved him…and…and somehow he'd gone and ruined it!_

"_You…you used to be so big…"_

_And now, now he was just another biting insect, a thorn in the side of a young, promising nation. A nation that had a bright future and a clean past. A cleaner slate than England had been even when he was just a babe running through the forests of a land that didn't even have a name. America was pure. He was tainted. _

_

* * *

_

_Winning the Great War had been his peak. In 1922, he sat on the throne of the biggest empire in history. One-fifth of the world's total landmass was under his control. He was the _British Empire._ He felt invincible. He felt infallible. He felt revered and feared and respected. And that was what he wanted. Right?_

_Then the stupid, stupid depression had slammed into him full force. Sure, it was worse in some places, but it had crippled him for several years. And now, now that his people were recovering, the winds of war were once again brewing on the continent. Another war. Just another peg in Arthur's long line of them. Or so he believed._

_

* * *

_

_Buildings exploded around him. What was left of the French town crumbled further with each blast, leaving him fewer and fewer places to hide. Germany himself was here somewhere. Arthur had seen him. Arthur had…_

_Machines guns bit at the wall he hid behind. Dust plumed. Chunks of plaster and brick ricocheted like shrapnel, biting into his exposed cheek. Suddenly, it stopped, and Arthur frantically looked around for better shelter. He spotted a group of his men signaling for him to run. They were retreating. _

_He took a deep breath and quickly peered around the corner, spotting the machine gun operators aiming at something in another direction. He took off, running as fast as his legs could take him, his lungs burning with each step. Almost there. Almost. _

_The gunfire tore through his torso, sending him to the ground in a heap. More bullets than he could count ripped through his flesh, shattering bones and ripping organs. His blood poured from the line of bullets that littered his body, his throat closing up as his bile seeped up into it. His abdomen was practically ripped open, pieces of ruptured organs visible to the naked eye. His helmet had landed with a sharp ding several fit away, useless. Arthur's ear rang, his body screamed, his heart struggled to beat. _

_So he just stared up at the clouds and pretended it was just another day._

_

* * *

_

_He heard the door open and close, but he chose not to acknowledge the man's presence. Whether it was out of embarrassment for his obvious inability to win this war or the embarrassment over Alfred seeing him like this, he didn't know. _

"_Arthur." Alfred's voice was unusually sorrowful._

"_Yes?" He continued staring out the window._

"_Please look at me." _

_Arthur silently refused. He didn't want to look at Alfred. He didn't want his former charge to see him in this state, to see his foolish, washed up old self that had degraded into a shadow of his former glory. He was a shell now. Though resilient, his people were scared and quickly losing hope. His empire was starting to crumble beneath his feet. In a moment, he'd held the world in his hands. He'd finally achieved something to be proud of, something to take his mind off of his failures and miseries. And in a moment, he'd lost it all. _

_A hand settled on his shoulder. Finally, he swallowed the only thing he had left: his pride. He turned to look at Alfred, who stood taller than him now. Alfred was visibly shocked._

"_What? Surprised the old man finally looks like one?"_

"_You don't…God, Arthur, you look half dead."_

_Arthur almost laughed. Of course he looked half dead! He'd had his torso ripped out by machine guns two months ago. He'd been in the hospital for a month and a half. With Britain suffering the way it was, it was lucky he'd lived at all! Stupid, stupid Alfred! He never changed._

"_Were you expecting me to welcome you with a smile and offer tea and crumpets?" He sneered._

_Alfred looked pained. "Arthur…please…don't act like this." He grabbed both of Arthur's arms. "I care about you, okay? I need to make sure that you're…"_

"_You care about me?" Arthur couldn't fathom it. Alfred had always appeared to resent him since the day he'd declared his independence._

_Alfred was shocked. "Of course I do! How could think I don't care about you?"_

_What kind of ludicrous nonsense was that boy spouting now? Alfred didn't care about him. Nobody did. Francis _wanted_ him for sex. Others _wanted_ him for money and assistance and support. But no one would dare _care_ about Arthur Kirkland. Who the hell would want to? _

"_Stop spouting lies, you stupid git."_

_Alfred gaped. "I'm not lying."_

_Arthur broke out of his grasp and maneuvered around the planning table in the middle of the room, heading for the door. Just as he was about the turn the knob, he paused. "The least you could do is tell me the truth, Alfred."_

_A rough hand grabbed him and spun him around. He stared, shocked, at the anger in Alfred's face. "Fine, you want the truth?" Arthur prepared for the worst._

"_I love you."_

What?

_He would have screamed and hit and punched and kicked at Alfred for telling him such a obvious lie, for mocking him like that. But when the boy—so strong, always so strong—hoisted him off the ground and deposited on the table. When he desperately pressed his lips to Arthur's, coaxing Arthur's pliant lips open, coaxing a stunned tongue into submission. When lips landed on Arthur's neck, softly and lovingly kissing the skin, doting on old scars and still aching battle wounds. When those lips made their way down a now bare chest, caressing each ache and pain with care. When Arthur lost all his restraint and regained his wits and pulled Alfred closer—as close as he could get him. When they consummated a newfound relationship right there without a hint of regret or scratch on their dignity. When Alfred pulled out of him and embraced his body, and Arthur clung to him for dear life, sobbing every frustration he'd ever had._

_When Alfred admitted his love, that he _could_ actually love Arthur, that Arthur _could_ be loved, Arthur admitted something he'd never once thought in his entire life. _

_That maybe…_

_Just maybe…_

_He was worth being loved. _

_

* * *

_

He woke up. Sweat lingered on his skin, blood lingered in his cheeks, and pleasure lingered in his veins, his entire body still basking in the afterglow of something that had most definitely not just happened in reality. Green eyes met green, and something in Arthur's dazed brain told him his devious double had just seen everything he had. His entire life. Flashing right before his eyes in burst of pain and loss and gain and unbridled emotions. And the man in front of him had seen it all. All his thoughts. All his feelings.

He felt…exposed.

His double eyed him with an emotion Arthur did not immediately recognize. What was it? He concentrated harder. Was that…no it couldn't be…understanding? Yes, that _was _it. But why would his double…?

Soft hands caressed his cheeks, cheeks now stained with tears from a time long past. His double's half-lidded eyes serenaded him with adoration and comfort. "Oh, Arthur. Even in my wildest imaginings, I never could've guessed we had so much in common."

"W—what?" Arthur's voice came out labored and husky. His double gently ran his finger's through Arthur's damp hair before leaning in again, pressing their foreheads back together.

"You need to know something, Arthur."

"W—what?" He repeated.

His double smiled, releasing from his eyes fifteen hundred years of pent up pain. "That you are not alone."

And then Arthur was gone again.

* * *

**Dro:** This chapter was like one big emo-fest. Oh well. England had a sad life.

**Next Chapter:** England wakes up in the memories of his parallel self, and with a brief inter_lude_, finally comes to understand why the man left his home world. (Hint: I'm punning on something here.)


	18. Dream a Little Dream of Me II

**Dro:** Meant to get this out earlier, but the next chapter took me a little longer to write today. -snicker- Anyway, have a go with alter! Arthur's history. **And don't forget to review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Glimpses at the memories of alter! Arthur's life, including the growth of his magic and the reasons he left his world to begin with. And oh, enjoy the inter_lude_.

**Warnings: **Sex, Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

_He stood in field of tall grass, so tall it obscured his vision. He was staring at a sky that was choked with ash, a plume of black smoke curling up into the clouds from a few miles away. A volcano. The ground shook as the mountain exploded, the shockwave sending him to his knees. He could feel the pain already, feel the molten rock as it burned its way through plants and animals and…and his people._

Not again. Please.

_This was the second time in two hundred years he'd been forced to watch them die like this. Why did this keep happening? Thick, toxic air caused his lungs to seize, and he ran. He had no other choice but to run. His small feet carried him through the thick field and down to a river bank. He tripped, falling face first into the water. He coughed as he pulled himself out, his reflection appearing in the mirror-like surface._

_A trickle of blood ran down his forehead, staining his short fair hair. His lips were chapped and threatening to tear any moment. Tears were barely clinging to his eyelids. The water rippled as something dark rained down from the sky, corrupting it. The ash had already started to fall. He hauled himself back up and leapt into the water, the coolness calming his thoughts. He waded through it as deeply as he could, and then starting swimming. He wasn't a very good swimmer. He struggled to fight the current. This was the thinnest part of the river though. If he couldn't make it to the other side here, he'd be trapped on the side with the volcano. _

_With all his strength, he forced his arms and legs to keep pulling him along, and finally, he reached the other bank. Just in time to see panicked people streaming over the side he'd just come from. Some were on fire. Some held children on fire. Some were charred and walking corpses. They fled into the river, the current taking most of them away. They screamed in pain and fear and agony. And Arthur was too tired to move. So he was forced to watch._

_

* * *

_

_He had a king now. That was what they called him. He ruled the lands with an iron fist, just as he ruled Arthur. They kept in a lavish room and fed him all the food he wanted, but they refused to let him out. Arthur's view of the world was reduced to his tiny window. He'd pleaded with the young, arrogant king to let him roam the wilderness as he'd done since birth, but the foolish man was convinced he was a "liability" and "needed to be protected." So they dressed him like a little doll and put him on a little shelf. _

_Sometimes Arthur would watch the door, waiting for the maids to bring him breakfast. Sometimes he contemplated ambushing them and escaping. But they were innocent people. The servants had done nothing wrong. How he could bring himself to harm his own people?_

_He sat in the window for months on end, his mind slowly decaying. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he really was a doll, lifeless and empty. He sat with arms wrapped around his knees and peered through the dirty window pane. He'd forgotten what grass felt like on his ankles, what flowers smelled like, what water from a clear stream tasted like. He'd forgotten who he used to be._

_The day the northern kingdom invaded, he watched from his little window. They battered through the castle gate and slaughtered knight and servant alike. They stormed through the castle, and Arthur blocked out their screams, instead concentrating on the forest he could just see beyond the castle walls. When his door broke from its hinges, he didn't bother to move. Perhaps they would kill him. Perhaps he could then return as a spirit to the wilderness he missed so much._

_But he no such luck. He never had. A single man approached him, though he could hear the whispers of others. Sighing, he turned to face the man, refusing to move from his perch in the window. The man's dark hair spilled over his shoulders, green eyes gleaming with excitement. He crouched down next to Arthur and cupped his face, smiling triumphantly._

_A whisper fell from his lips._

"_Britannia." _

_

* * *

_

"_Master Kirkland, it's time to awaken." The woman knocked softly on his door. Three generations of kings had gone by, and he was still woken up like this everyday. He sat up in his large bed and eyed his closet. He could dress himself, but they always insisted on dressing him. Still a doll. He frowned._

_An hour later, they had finished with his boots and his blouse and his coat, lacing and buttoning and tying all sorts of things Arthur wasn't sure he could remove on his own. The woman spoke in hushed tones as she guided him to the dining hall. Like he needed a guide. The king was already at the table with his young queen and toddler prince. But there were a few faces he did not recognize. He silently questioned his king, who motioned for him to sit._

"_Good morning, Britannia. I have a few important people for you to meet today. We will be making an alliance with them today."_

_Arthur focused his eyes on the small party. Most of them looked mundane. Except for the blond man in the middle. Lush golden locks, slightly curled, rested on his shoulders. Bright blue eyes bored holes into Arthur's head. The man stared at him intently, and it made Arthur feel uneasy as he sat down._

"_Now, Arthur, this is the King of one our neighboring lands," he pointed to the rather average looking older man to his left, "a land that you will see much of in the near future. And this is the land itself." he pointed to the blond man. "His name is Gaul."_

_

* * *

_

_The man smothered him with another heated kiss. Arthur's lips were already swollen, his tongue already tired, but the man just kept kissing and kissing. They were completely naked now, hips pressed sensually together as the man thrust against him. Arthur bit back a moan. They shouldn't be doing this. If anyone found out..._

"_Gaul!" He screamed out at the feeling of something foreign entering him._

"_Shh." The older man whispered in his ear. "I will give you the greatest pleasure of your life, young Britannia. Trust me. I will not harm you."_

_He _did_ trust Gaul. The man knew exactly what he had gone through over the centuries. He had gone through the same. They had bonded after their alliance, Arthur spending time in his lands, Francis spending time in Britannia. But this…this was uncharted territory. If someone caught them…if…he bucked his hips as an overwhelming pleasure shot through his body, muddling his brain._

"_Aha. That's what I thought."_

_Arthur's protest died, and minutes later he found himself rocking back and forth as Francis thrust into him erratically. He desperately grasped for the man and pulled him into a passionate, sloppy kiss, running their tongues together, pulling lips with teeth, moaning into each other's—_

_

* * *

_

The world around him faded, leaving Arthur with nothing but the intensity of the kiss. Hands were in his hair, pulling him against the mouth that worked desperately at his own. He kissed back, lost in the passion of the tongue that slid across his own. A throaty moan broke free from the other man. A moan that sounded suspiciously like his own…

Arthur tore himself away, stopped dead by hands that held his head in place. His wide eyes stared back into their twins, his double's half-lidded lust gazing longingly back at him. A trail of saliva was suspended between their swollen lips.

_Oh. My. God._

His double seemed to snap out of it. "Oh…my apologies." He chuckled, his red lips curling upward to accent his flushed cheeks. "Sometimes I get carried away with that one."

"Y…you…y…you…" Arthur couldn't make a single coherent thought.

"Oh well." His twin shrugged. "Let's get back to work then."

"Wai—!"

He slammed their foreheads back together.

* * *

_Canon fire woke him up with a start, and he dived off the bed at the last second as the ball came crashing through the side of the ship. Water trickled in, the hole right at the line of sea. Arthur scrambled up and grabbed his bag, forgoing his shoes. He ran up the stairs to the upper deck, where the sounds of battle filled his ears. His ship had already been boarded. He ran to find a hiding place._

_The sound of heavy boots behind told him he was being followed. He ran as fast as he could, trying to lose them through twists and turns, but they kept following. He turned a corner…straight into a dead end. _No! _He whipped around to face them. The two pirates chuckled._

"_Well, well, is it me or does this boy match the Captain's description?" One man smirked._

_The other smiled darkly. "He does indeed." _

_He lunged, trying to knock them out of the way, but they grabbed his hands and legs and bound him. He screamed and convulsed. "Let me go!" But they just gagged him and started carrying him away. They hauled him up the steps and onto the deck, where a fierce battle was taking place. His Captain, engaged with a pirate, noticed him immediately, and shouted for the crew to reclaim him. _

_But it was all in vain. The pirates outnumbered them. He watched in horror as the crew of his ship was slaughtered one by one, the pirates taking no enemies. Then they drug him onto their ship and took him below deck, locking him up a dingy brig. He screamed at them to release him, but they just laughed. The two that had caught him hung around, grins on their faces. _What are they waiting for?

_He got his answer moments later. Francis emerged from the doorway, smirking. He dismissed the two pirates, telling them they'd be rewarded later. _

"_You…" His heart dropped._

"_Hello, my little Britannia. It's nice to see you again."_

"_Why would you do this? Why would you do this to me?"_

_Francis quirked an eyebrow. "Are you serious? After your king betrayed mine and left me open to the Germanic invasion? You let my people die!" He spat._

"_That wasn't me, Francis! I didn't decide that."_

_Francis sneered. "You are Britannia. And therefore, it is _your_ fault. You must learn to take responsibility for your people's actions."_

"_But my people aren't me!"_

"_Yes. Yes, they are." Francis unlocked the cell door and clambered in, his hand landing on his sheathed sword. Arthur stumbled backward into the wall, swallowing. _

"_You're going to kill me?"_

"_Kill? _Non._ I'm going to teach you a lesson. Then I will drag you bag to Gaul and set you before my king. If he wishes to kill you, then so be it." Francis grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the floor, ripping his shirt off._

"_Stop! What are you doing?"_

_He screamed as Francis grabbed his hair, forcing him to sit up. Arthur heard the sound of a sword being drawn. "I will teach you what happens when you cross Gaul, dear Britannia." The cold point of the sword dug into Arthur's shoulder._

"_Francis, please. I trusted you."_

_A dry laugh broke out behind him. "Really, _mon cher_? Well, then, I suppose you are learning two lessons today. _Never_ trust another nation, dear Britannia."_

"_Fr—!"_

_In one swift motion, the sword split his skin from shoulder to hip. _

_

* * *

_

_He mumbled to himself, tugging absently at the shackles around his wrists and ankles. How long had he been in this pin deep in the bowels of Francis' home? He'd lost track before he even got here. The wound on his back had become infected. He'd spent weeks hallucinating and barely conscious. That had passed now. Francis had his wish. Arthur's back was permanently disfigured, a raised pink jagged line marring the skin. _

_The sound of humming roused him, and he smiled. Now, it was time. He'd been working on this for so long, just for Francis. The usual guard came around the corner, a pitiful tray of food in hand. They fed him enough to keep alive and not much more. But not much longer, he mused. Tonight, he would dine like a king. A high-pitched giggle broke free from his lips. The guard paused and raised an eyebrow just as he was about to open the door. _Oops. Don't act suspicious now, Arthur! _He smiled dreamily at the guard._

"_Fever again, boy?" _

_Not that he really needed the guard for anything. It was dinner _time_ that was important, not the dinner guard. "Maybe…" he mumbled. _Maybe not._ Grumbling, the guard opened the door and slid his tray to him. _

"_I'll send someone to check on you, then, I suppose." He closed the door and locked it._

_Arthur eyed the knife on the tray and smiled. "That won't be necessary."_

_The guard, who had turned to leave, swiftly turned back around to question him. Only to be greeted by a floating knife. Arthur grinned madly. "Bye Bye!" The knife drove itself into the man's eye, and he screamed for a brief moment. Then the knife punctured his brain and killed him where he stood. He flopped to the ground motionless. Arthur sighed happily as he watched the slow trickle of blood leak from the man's punctured eye. _

_Satisfied, Arthur broke free from the shackles, their strength no match for his newly acquired ability. He'd been working on this for so long. _I wonder if Francis will appreciate all the hard work I've done. _Skipping, he mentally unlocked the cell door and traipsed right out. He'd picked up more than enough skills to know where Francis would be during dinner time. He'd been spying. Or should he say "scrying?" He giggled at the thought. Oh, Francis would be so surprised to see him. The man had just been _so_ busy that he hadn't had time to stop by and chat with his old lover._

_He found Francis exactly where he knew he'd be. The man sat at his table in his chamber, all by himself, reading up on some decree his king was planning. He never even noticed Arthur was there, never noticed as Arthur mentally unsheathed Francis' own sword from its place against his armoire. He walked up silently behind Francis and smiled, leaning down next to him._

"_Good evening, Francis." _

_Francis leapt up. Far too slow. With a flick of his wrist, Arthur flung him against the wall, pinning him there. Francis' eyes widened as he realized he couldn't move, and a sense of panic came over him when he spied the sword floating nearby._

"_What…what witchery is this?" He stuttered._

"_Oh, it's just a little surprise I've been planning for you, Francis. I mean, you've been too busy to come see me, so I'd thought I'd drop in and see you instead."_

"_What kind of devil-deal have you made, boy?" He swallowed. "Did you sell your soul?"_

_Arthur giggled, high and hysterical. He eyed the sword._

_And drove it straight through Francis skull. _

"_No, silly. I sold yours."_

_

* * *

_

_Arthur sat at his desk, listening to static that interrupted the radio broadcast. He didn't like where this war in the east was going. He didn't want to concern himself too much with it. He had more profitable things to worry about. Like New Britain. God, that boy was fantastic. Smart and witty, yet gentle and clever. Everything Arthur had wanted in a companion. Granted, he'd had to fight the Spanish-Portuguese Union for him, but it had been worth it in the end. _

_And now the foolish Prussian Empire was picking fights with the Russian Republic, and it was disrupting Arthur's trade routes. _Humph. _He'd have to teach that Prussia boy some manners. But for now, he had a meeting to get to. His New Britain would be returning from his meeting with his rulers back at home to advise him on their next course of action. Arthur had been considering expanding New Britain further Northward toward the arctic circle, although he would need to negotiate a deal with Ivan first for his territory there. Well, the man never used it, so it shouldn't be too hard, yes?_

_He closed his office door behind him and locked it up, whistling as he went. His handsome New Britain's face consumed his thoughts. Oh, how he loved that boy. The first Arthur had ever truly loved. And it had been so long since they'd seen each other. Oh, did he have plans for tonight!_

_Suddenly, he was rocketed into the wall, a massive earthquake rocking the entire building. Except, it wasn't an earthquake. _

_It was a bomb._

_

* * *

_

_Arthur sat cross-legged in front of the grave as he had done every day for the last two years. This would be the last time he saw this place. He'd vowed it. Today, he would be leaving his home and never returning. He had spent the last two years working toward this particular goal, and finally, he had achieved it. He glanced down at the tombstone. _My New Britain. I wish I had a more beautiful land to put you to rest in.

_It had been the biggest mistake of his life, separating from New Britain. He had traveled to the small Kingdom of Iceland to gather more support against the Prussian invasion. Two days. That was how long he planned to be gone. Then…then that damned Prussian Empire had decided he was under too much pressure. He'd attacked the West and the East and was fighting on two fronts, which he could not handle. So instead of surrendering and calling a truce, he went the opposite direction._

_Nuclear weaponry, they called it. _

_Once his great Britannia—largest empire in the world—had been completed decimated at its core, Prussia aimed its sights on Russia. And then all hell broke lose. Russian spies stole the bomb plans, and then…then it was all out chaos. Arthur had had no choice but to hide underground in a bunker for months. He was all by himself, just like the old days. _

_And when he emerged, expecting to find a world slowly beginning to bring itself back together…_

_He found nothing. _

_There was nothing left. _

_No people. No life. No civilization. _

_Just dust and destruction._

_They'd finally done it. After being warned by philosophers and liberals and religious fanatics for centuries, they'd finally done it. _

_They'd destroyed the world._

_So now he sat here, in a barren patch of dirt, with his New Britain's grave the only thing for miles. He brushed off the grave stone and kissed it softly. "Goodbye, my love. Tomorrow, I will walk a different Earth. I will make a new Britannian Empire in place of my own. I will rise up to power again, make new allies, new friends…" _New loves. _"And once I have my dream back in my hands, I will _never_ let it go again. I fear that if I stay here, I will whither away. The few people that remain here have no national allegiance. I am alone and slowly fading because of it. And after my life—more than a millennium—after I've been through all that…I just…I just _can't _allow myself to go that way."_

_He rose and looked off into the shadowed sunset, marred by a layer of unrelenting ash. "Wish me luck, my New Britain. Tomorrow, I take another world."_

_

* * *

_

**Dro:** So, who has the more emo history? Arthur or alter! Arthur? I'm going to put my bets on alter! Arthur. Nuclear holocaust. Poor guy...

**Next Chapter:** -snickers- Uh...take the chapter before last, cut out the last line, and keep going? (I honestly can't believe I ended up writing it that way. -chuckles- Oh well.)


	19. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

**Dro:** Sorry I didn't get to Romano in this chapter, but this chapter is actually really important. Don't worry though, Romano is in the _next _chapter (I wrote it today). On another note, **don't forget to review** because Dro likes** reviews**, and **reviews** make me want to write more. **Reviews.** Got it?

**Chapter Summary:** _Stuff_ happens between the two Arthurs. Yeah, _stuff._

**Warnings:** Sexual situations (not sex though), Language

* * *

Arthur's eyes cracked open, but his vision was blurred. He blinked his half-lidded irises until the world around him started to refocus. His body felt…heavy? But somehow…somehow he felt so utterly content. There was a buzz running through his veins, pervading his bones, and it sent signals of lingering pleasure and satisfaction to his jumbled brain. _Where am I again?_ He tried to remember. There had been a uniform and a dinner invitation. From…from someone. Right? An image of a lavishly decorated table popped into his head. A Christmas celebration. There was a blond and a brunette and he was at the head of the table. The blond…no, New Britain, his New Britain…

No, not his New Britain.

The _other_ Arthur's New Britain.

His clarity slammed back into his mind, forcing out the confusion that was keeping him at bay. His double had forced him into a dinner, then he'd come up with some nonsense about sharing memories. Right? Arthur stiffened. He hadn't moved since he'd woken up. He was too tired. His head had been facing a table littered with food that was long cold. That was all he could see without moving. But he was almost afraid to move. If only for the fact that it felt like he was laying against…

An arm tightened around his waist.

_Oh dear God._

Slowly, he picked his head up off the shoulder it had been propped on and dared to look. Heat crept up his cheeks as he came face to face with his dozing double, who had a sloppy, contented grin on his face. Somehow or another, the two of them had up in the same chair, Arthur draped on top of his other self. _This is so wrong._ He tried to pull away, but even unconscious, the other man had an iron grip. He couldn't get the arm off his waist. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. _God forbid anyone comes through that door right now._ How long had they been in here? Hours? He'd lost track of time after…

He bit his lip. _Oh God no!_ Flashes of memories zipped through his head. Some were his own. Some were not. _I have them all. Oh my God! I have all his memories. Every last one._ Arthur's heart started pounding. He tried to separate the memories from his own and push them away, marking them as the other man's, but every now and then he'd come to one he _couldn't_ distinguish the ownership of. _Mine or his?_ He thought long and hard on some of them, trying to use cues. His world was not in this war. His double's world did not have this country. Finally, he got fed up and just stopped thinking about them all together. When he got out of this fucking place, he'd just have to find a way to remove the foreign memories. If they could be implanted, they could be removed. Right?

Arthur shook his head. _This just keeps getting stranger and stranger._ He glanced at his sleeping double again, a thought suddenly striking him. His eyes shifted to the knife on the table. His double was asleep. Unguarded. Maybe, just maybe he had the advantage here. He absently went to adjust his coat collar, only to realize it wasn't there. He paused and looked around for it, finding it hanging precariously off a shelf on the opposite wall. _Do I want to know how that got there?_ He examined himself. His shirt was untucked, ruffled, and half-unbuttoned. He hesitantly looked at his double, whose clothes, besides being slightly wrinkled (as if they'd been slept on by another person, he refused to acknowledge), were still fully buttoned and in their proper positions.

A vague memory of an intense make out surfaced, and he almost pushed it away before realizing it was indeed his own. _Oh Jesus, I kissed him! Ugh! That bastard! I swear to God I'm going to stab him in the eye before this is all over with. Actually_, he eyed the knife,_ I could just do that now. _Tentatively, he reached for the knife, looking back and forth from his double to the door. _I can end this now. Right now._ He wrapped his fingers around the handle and lifted it up. _This is it. I'm going to stab him. I'm going to…_

A hand shot out and grabbed his own. He screamed. Languid green eyes looked up into his own. _Shit. Oh, holy fucking shit!_ _He's going to beat me senseless. _Except he didn't. Instead, the man moved his hand from Arthur's own and down to his wrist, lifting the armed hand and placing by his neck. Arthur frowned. _What is he doing?_

"Do you want to kill me, Arthur?"

What kind of question was that? Of course he did. But something in his double's eyes told him the man knew—_knew_, not suspected—a different answer. _What is he playing at?_ The blade of the knife lightly pressed into the skin of his double's neck, the man daring Arthur to make a move.

"I could kill you right now."

"I know." The man smiled lazily, a haze of pleasure in his eyes. "But you won't."

"And…and how do you know that?" Arthur said indignantly.

"Then go ahead. Kill me." The man released his wrist.

Arthur should've killed him right there. Had this been yesterday or the day before that or the day before that it or, hell, hours ago, he would have in a heartbeat. But something stopped him. Something Arthur couldn't explain was holding his wrist in place, just centimeters from severing the man's artery and taking his life. And it wasn't magic. Or anything physical. It was something…inexplicable. Arthur's eyes stared down into deep green pools that so exactly mimicked his own. They flashed with a knowing glint that told Arthur his double knew exactly what that something was.

"What's wrong with me?" He whispered, a seed of fear sprouting in his heart.

His double cocked his head to the side and blinked before breaking into a soft smile. "Silly Arthur, there's nothing wrong with you."

"Then why can't I kill you?" Arthur spat back at him.

His double raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to?"

"Of course I do! What kind of question is…?" Did he? _Of course I…Of course…my convictions haven't changed…I want to kill this man…I want to…_Arthur's could feel the bile churning uncomfortably in his stomach, heaving up into his esophagus and burning its way back down as the realization slammed him in the chest. The knife clattered to the floor as it slipped from his trembling fingers.

"Arthur, do you want to kill me?"

A tear slid down Arthur's cheek. "…No."

His double smiled. "See? That's why you can't."

"But…why?" Arthur cried. _What's wrong with me? Why don't I want to kill him? I've wanted to for weeks! It's been my sole drive. It's been my main goal. Just yesterday I wanted so badly to…what changed?_

But he already knew the answer to that.

Memories.

"What have you done to me?" He whimpered.

"I told you I wanted to get to know you better. Intimately. More intimate than humans could ever manage. And there is no purpose in doing that unless I return the favor. You know me now. Better than anyone has ever known me or will ever know me. And I know you the same."

Arthur's entire body was shaking now. "And what does that mean?"

His double smiled. "Whatever you want it to. You have all my secrets. And I have yours."

"All of them? All your…secrets?" Arthur murmured to himself.

"Well, all except one. But I can't give that one to you yet."

"And you have all of mine? That's not fair."

"Is there one that you want back? I could return it."

"I…you're actually offering that?" Arthur swallowed, trying to figure out just what was going on here. What was it his double was subtly implying? There had to be more to this than just exchanging memories for the purpose of "getting to know each other." Was that purpose his double's last secret?

"Of course I am. I don't want to upset you."

"I'm far beyond upset already." There wasn't a word for what Arthur was feeling right now.

His double frowned, the arm around Arthur's waist loosening as the other came up to stroke his cheek. "You _are_ upset. I can see the worry and confusion churning in your eyes. I can fix that."

Arthur shouldn't have said anything. "H—how?"

His double smiled, that contented look still plastered on his face like he was drugged up to heaven. "Let me show you." He whispered.

Arthur froze as the man's other hand landed on his head and pushed him forward until their faces were centimeters apart. His heart raced. "What are you doing? Stop!" He tried to pull away.

"Arthur."

He stopped struggling at the tone in his double's voice. It struck him like the perfect chord, and he had the distinct sensation of laying in a stream as cool water flowed around him, washing his worries away.

"For just this one moment, will you trust me and do as I say?"

Arthur was already lost again. Lost in the man's eyes. In his touch. In his memories.

"Yes."

His double smiled again, soft and lazy and oh-so-content. "Kiss me."

Arthur kissed him without question. He pressed his lips against the other man's, running his hands through the man's blond hair and tugging lightly on the locks. His double kissed him back fiercely, capturing Arthur's bottom lip and biting softly on it. Arthur gasped. The world around him seemed to fade away, and he felt like he stood outside of it, like he'd transcended it. There was a feeling of being complete is every sense of the word he knew. His emotions were steady and perfect and held together by rational bounds. His knowledge was vast, and his wisdom even more so. His power…his power was endless. It was a pool of pure energy deeper and wider than anything that had ever existed before it.

He grabbed desperately at this feeling, wanting it more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. He parted his lips and allowed his double's tongue to ravage his mouth, weakly battling it with his own. His double's hands pulled at his shirt, and he released his grip on his double's hair and deftly unbuttoned it. Cold hands ran up his sides, tracing the hints of toned muscle on Arthur's chest and abdomen.

More. He wanted more. He wanted much more. He went for his pants, roughly tugging at the belt and button and zipper until they were undone. His double's fingers, tracing circles around his nipples, quickly left their posts and ran back down Arthur's chest, dipping into his navel before traveling further south. The hand roughly cupped his crotch, and Arthur cried out.

"Oh God! More! Don't stop!" He was _so_ sensitive. God, he felt so…he felt so _high!_

His double immediately complied, slipping his fingers past Arthur's zipper. _Oh, yes. Pleas, God, Yes! _Fingers slid underneath the material confining Arthur's rapidly growing erection, brushing against hot skin. _Please, don't fucking stop. Don't you dare! _Those same cool fingers finally wrapped around him, squeezing gent—

"Boss!"

Someone knocked on the door.

In song.

_Oh, God, no! _His perfect existence came crashing down around him, and he suddenly felt irrevocably empty and incomplete. The door opened without another word, revealing a panting Siphone who had obviously been running all the way here.

"B—!" She stopped dead in her tracks, taking in the scene in front of her. Arthur sat on double's lap, the man's hand buried somewhere in his pants. His own hands gripped his double's hair and coat, which was now hanging haphazardly off one shoulder. Their faces were less than a inch apart, lips shining with trails of saliva from previously joined tongues.

Her face went beet red, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Arthur thought he heard a "Sorry!" muffled beneath her fingers as she ran back out and slammed the door behind her.

Arthur felt like a bucket of water had been dumped on his head. His eyes traveled from his double's face to the hand in his pants, still touching him. A sense of complete horror washed over him. He pushed away from his double, stumbling backward as he lost his footing until he hit the wall. He panted shallowly, his lungs struggling to get in air. He stared into his double's eyes, fearing the man would try to resume where they'd left off.

To his complete and utter confusion, his double looked equally put off. The man was blinking rapidly and shaking his head, like he'd just woke up from a drug induced sleep. He could've sworn he caught the murmur "What was that?" escape from his other self's lips.

What was that? That was exactly what Arthur wanted to know. _What the fuck was I doing? I almost had sex with my…with my_self! He wanted to scream. He barely contained it as his double's eyes roved over his form, lingering on his still undone pants. He pressed himself flat again the wall, slipping and sliding down it as his double stood and walked toward him. He was almost hyperventilating.

His double crouched down next to him and reach for his pants. Arthur whimpered. _Oh God! I'm so pathetic. _He wanted to push his double away, but he couldn't even muster the strength. He closed his eyes, preparing for the worst, as he felt fingers brush against his zipper. He froze when he felt those same hands pull the zipper up. _Wha…?_ He cracked his eyes open slowly, watching with fascination as his double buttoned his pants and redid his belt before reaching for his shirt. Arthur's shoulders slumped in relief as the man pulled his shirt back upright and buttoned it up.

He dared to look into those identical eyes again. His double's eyebrows were furrowed, as if was trying to solve some kind of mystery. Arthur realized—though he didn't want to admit it—that he wasn't the only one who had no idea what had just happened between them. His double had _not_ been expecting them to do…_that_. Which meant, of course, that Arthur just couldn't claim his double had been performing some kind of magic on him to rape or something. _Fuck, there goes my defense._

So what had happened? He watched his double's every move. The man teleported across the room and grabbed Arthur's coat before reappearing in front of him, draping the material over one arm. He offered Arthur a hand. Hesitantly, Arthur took it. The man pulled him up. They were standing about a foot apart, and while that was an improvement to sitting in the man's lap, Arthur still felt way too close for comfort. He expected the man to offer him his coat. Instead, his double flung it around his back and held it out for Arthur to simply slip his arms into. Slowly, he did so, not sure what his double was getting at. The man respectfully buttoned his coat back up without saying another word. Then they just looked at each other.

His double seemed to be searching his face something. Answers? Arthur shifted on his feet, trying not to meet his double's uncomfortable stare. Finally, after several seconds of tense silence, his double finally spoke.

"I…I apologize for…_that_."

Arthur's eyes suddenly shot back up. "You're apologizing?"

"I…yes." His double bit the corner of his lip briefly. "I'm not sure what came over me."

"Yeah, me either." Arthur mumbled under his breath, though he knew his double could hear him.

He double coughed. "Anyway," he suddenly slipped back into his typical persona, "I suppose we should go see what Siphone wants."

"Yeah."

They stood awkwardly facing each other for another few seconds. Arthur's immense fear and humiliation had settled into burning curiosity. If his double had not done anything to make Arthur respond like that. If double hadn't _meant_ to respond like that. Then…that what the hell had happened? And would it…would it ever end up happening _again?_ Arthur struggled with himself. He really wanted to know. _This is so unbecoming of me. And I will never live this down._ So he decided to test a very shaky theory.

He leaned in kissed his double softly.

The other man froze for a fraction of second before melting into it, his hand gently cupping Arthur's cheek. Almost immediately, Arthur felt that feeling of completeness again, rushing back toward him to consume him in its fire. They both pulled back at the same time, and Arthur knew, without a doubt, that his double had felt it too.

"What is that?" He whispered.

His other self looked fascinated, and then surprised (as if he'd had a sudden epiphany), and then excitement sparked up in his eyes. But he said nothing except: "I will research this more later." Then he motioned for Arthur to followed him. "Come along."

Arthur stood there, still completely and hopelessly lost. _What the hell did I just do to myself?_

_

* * *

_

**Dro:** Hey, look! It's that Arthur selfcest everyone was hoping for a few chapters ago. Yay! Or nay? -shrug- Might not be your thing, but it's actually a really important plot device I need for something...really important a little later on this story.

**Next Chapter:** Siphone and Lucaster inform the Arthurs about Drovich's plan to kidnap Lovino. Meanwhile, Drovich has confined Lovino to a basement in the middle of nowhere and is intent on getting his magic back. No matter what. Back at the nation's base, everyone is on high alert due to Lovino's disappearance, and Feliciano realizes something horrifying. Later on, Arthur finds out something equally horrifying courtesy of his double.


	20. Broken Mirrors, Shattered Minds

**Dro:** Yay, back to Romano in this chapter! And the next! Then we'll get into the Alfred's "great" plan arc. By the way, **don't forget to drop a review. Please? Yes? Review for Dro?**

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur finds out about his double's dark side. Lovino suffers at Drovich's enraged hands. And Feliciano discovers just where his brother had "run off to."

**Warnings:** Torture, Violence, Language

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Arthur's mind was still reeling as he followed his double down the hallway. At the end of the long corridor, Siphone was whispering frantically to Lucaster, who was leaning against one of the wall-sized windows that decorated the entire airship. As soon as the pair spotted the two approaching Arthurs, however, they immediately shut up. _Well, no mystery as to what they're talking about._ Arthur eyed his double, who seemed to have completely brushed off all the weirdness from a few minutes ago. _Wish I could do that._ His brain was still stuck on the image of his double's hand in his pants. He sighed inwardly. _I will never live this down. If anyone back home finds out about this, I will never be able to show my face again. Ever. _

Then there was the problem that, of course, his double obviously now knew something he didn't. He had seen that look of revelation. The man now had some idea of why _that_ had happened between them. Arthur, on the other hand, was still completely clueless. Even with all the knowledge he'd gained from his double—he pushed it to the back of his mind as it tried to surface and consume him again—he still couldn't find the answer, which, of course meant it was part of whatever his double had _not_ shared with him. This whole situation was just as suspicious as it was confusing.

"Siphone." His double addressed her. Siphone immediately turned to face him and straightened up, Lucaster mimicking her. "You had something important to tell me, I'm assuming?"

"Yes, sir." She said quickly, her face going red again.

"Mhmm. You know I have no problem with you telling me urgent things, however, when you knock on a door, be sure to wait for an _answer_ before you open it."

"Yes, sir. My apologies." She squeaked.

"Now, what is this all about?" His double glanced from Siphone to Lucaster, who, Arthur realized, _both_ looked extremely nervous. _Something's happened. Something bad for them? I can only hope._

_That's mean, Arthur._

Arthur jumped, his eyes snapping to his double, who was comically pouting. _I imagined that, right?_

_Nope._

_How long have you been able to…?_

_Always._

Arthur gaped at him, ignoring Siphone and Lucaster as they confusedly looked to and fro from their boss to his twin. _You can't read my mind, can you? _

_Would it make you feel better if I said no?_

_Not if that's a lie._

His double shrugged. _Guess I can't make you feel better then._

_So, this whole time, you've been reading my mind? _Arthur was panicking now. The _things_ he'd thought about his double during training…

_Yep._

_I hate you._

_I love you too, Arthur._

"Um…well…" Siphone licked her lips anxiously.

The two Arthurs broke off their mental conversation and refocused on the situation at hand. Something definitely wasn't right here. Arthur had never seen Siphone act like this before. She looked…scared. In particular, scared of her _boss_.

His double raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong, Siphone?"

"It's just that…um…gee…hey, Lu…"

"Nope, you found out. You know more than me. You tell him." Lucaster dismissed her, biting his lip.

"Will one of you just tell me what the hell is going on?" A hint of annoyance flared up in his double's words. Arthur couldn't fault him on that. He was damned curious too.

"Well, it's just that…Drovich…"

"What did he do this time?"

Siphone swallowed nervously. "Drovich's gone."

"Excuse me?" His double's voice suddenly fell dangerously low.

Siphone jumped at the harshness. "He…left the ship earlier without telling anyone. So, I kind of ransacked him room looking for a reason why…and…um…if his journal has any truth to it…" She trailed off.

"Siphone, _what_ is Drovich doing?"

Siphone was shaking now. Arthur couldn't quite figure out why, and he wondered if there was a vicious, violent side to his double. An image surfaced of his double mercilessly beating down Siphone and Lucaster in training after getting angry over a lost battle. Oh. That made sense. Well, at least the man's memories were useful for something.

Lucaster finally gave up and stepped in. "According to Drovich's journal, he was pissed off that you refused to give him more magic after that nation boy stole some of it."

Arthur accessed this memory from the back of his head. He watched as his double chewed out Drovich for losing some of his magic. To who, his double didn't know, and Drovich hadn't been attentive enough to find out. Either that, or he had lied, which personally, Arthur found more likely since all of them seemed particularly knowledgeable on who they were attacking.

"_And_?" His double snapped.

"And he was determined that…that if you wouldn't give him more, then he would go reclaim the magic he lost."

Arthur could feel the dark aura spiking around his double. "So, in other words, Drovich has completely defied my orders to _stay_ on the ship unless ordered to leave, to _not_ attack the other nations unless ordered otherwise, and to _not_, under any circumstances, confront other magic users unless ordered otherwise?"

Lucaster. "Yes, sir."

"Find him. Now."

* * *

The first thing Lovino realized was that his head hurt. Badly. There was a trickle of blood running down his face from a now matted patch of hair, under which a weeping gash was still throbbing. The second thing he realized was that he was tied up. Tightly. He was strapped to a chair with his arms behind his back, and he had no leverage at all. He tried to see if he could pull the bonds loose with his magic, but as soon as he accessed it, a sharp jolt of pain ran through his body, and he cried out. His bonds were charmed.

The last thing Lovino realized was that Drovich was standing in front of him, a vicious sneer etched into his face. In his hand was a knife that he was twirling around with his fingers. He was eying Lovino like he was a worthless insect, and the man looked ready to end him right here.

"You w'll g've b'ck wh't you 'ave st'len, boy-o."

"What?" Lovino lifted his head, only to drop it again when a wave of dizziness overcame him. "What are you talking about?" Of course, Lovino already knew what he was talking about. The fucker wanted his magic back. Lovino had "stolen" it from him, apparently. Despite the fact that it hadn't been Lovino's goal to take the man's magic in the first place, Drovich seemed to have taken a lot of offense to it.

"Don't make me h'rt you, boy-o. G've it b'ck and I'll let you go."

"How?" Lovino murmured. Even he had _wanted_ to comply with the enemy's demands, he had no clue how.

"You j'st g've it back." Drovich shrugged.

"I don't know _how_, retard." He coughed. "Maybe if you would so _graciously_ inform me as to how the hell I can actually give it back, I would. It's not like I know all about this magic shit."

A hand struck his face, and Lovino's vision went white for a few seconds. He was so dizzy he was sure he was falling over backwards through the air. When he finally came back to Earth, Drovich was crouching down in front him, a tight, bruising grip on chin, forcing Lovino to look at him.

"Do n't g't sm'rt with me, boy-o. I _will_ kill you." His voice dropped an octave, and Lovino felt a chill run through his body.

"Then what? Would you get your magic back then, bastard?"

Drovich smirked. "If n'thing else w'rks, maybe that's wh't I'll try, eh?"

Lovino swallowed, wishing he hadn't said anything. He finally looked around the room. He was in some kind of basement. The only window in the room was long, slim, and broken, jagged pieces of glass lining the frame. That obviously wasn't an escape route. What were the odds of rescue? _Let's see, last time anyone saw me, I was _running away_ from Antonio. _A sharp pang hit his heart, but he pushed it down. He had more important things to worry about right now. _So, instead of being kidnapped, everyone probably thinks I just ran away. Wonderful. I'm going to die here. And they'll probably never now._

Fire erupted in his body. He screamed. It faded, and he was left gasping, his muscles feeling lingering spasms from the sudden assault. Drovich chuckled. "H'rts, doesn't it?"

"W…why did you do that?" Lovino cried out.

"B'cause I c'n. Now, pay att'ntion, boy-o. Y're going to do ex'ctly wh't I say, and if you don't,_ that's_ wh't I'll do to you, g't it?" Drovich grabbed his hair and forced Lovino's head and up and down in a false nod. "Now that we've cl'red that up, let's get st'rted."

The base was on high alert. Feliciano sat in his chair, wringing his hands. Alfred's hand was still on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Gilbert sat across the table, his chin resting on his hands while he frowned, his eyes distant and obviously not in the present. Antonio was bawling. There was no other way to describe it. Francis was softly patting his back, but nothing could calm him down. It had taken an hour just to get what had happened out of the man, and then when Feliciano had snapped at him, he'd broken down all over again.

But Feliciano really couldn't care less about Spain's feelings at the moment. Lovino was _gone_. He'd teleported off to who knew where. Teleported. Gilbert had told them all about it after Antonio had explained himself. Apparently, that had been the new skill that Lovino had been practicing earlier. And he'd gotten pretty good at it. Good enough to get himself off the base where nowhere could find him? Feliciano could only hope that wasn't the case. He'd been able to sense Lucaster's magic earlier. Hopefully, he would be able to do the same with Lovino's magic. If not…how would they find him?

There was always the chance that Lovino would be fine, that he would come back on his own before something bad happened to him, but Feliciano wouldn't give that possibility much credence. _Any_ of those bastards could be out there waiting for him. Lovino could've already been ambushed…he could be fighting right now…he could…he could be _dead._ Feliciano shivered at that thought, and Alfred wrapped an arm around him and leaned closer.

"It's okay, Feliciano. We'll find him."

Feliciano could only hope Alfred was stating truth and not just trying to comfort him. He clung to that idea, but eventually, the talk of search parties and…_possibilities_ became too much for him, and he ended up outside, taking in deep, cool breaths from the air. He walked around the parking lot slowly, shuddering as the endless possibilities of Lovino's condition flashed through his mind. He knew he needed to stop doing this to himself, but he couldn't help but fear the worst.

He sucked in a deep breath.

Then he stopped dead.

Something tugged at his senses. His _magic_ senses. He looked around, seeing nothing. It was just a lingering sensation from previous magic use. Lovino _had_ been practicing here earlier. He almost shrugged it off. Almost.

Then he realized something that sent ice shooting through his veins.

There were _two_ magic auras.

Two different auras.

One was Lovino's.

And the other…even though he'd only met the man one time, he knew…

The other one was Drovich's.

* * *

Arthur sat in his chair, gazing out the window. His double had sent him back to his room earlier, still fuming about Drovich's actions. He sighed. One of his fellow nations now had magic. Or so he hoped. There was always the possibility that Drovich's magic had been transferred to an incompatible, and that…that meant one of his friends had died slowly and painfully. He pushed that thought from his head. Dragging himself back into an unsound emotional state wouldn't help. He was already on the verge of mental instability. Every time he would look at normal things, he would suddenly get flashbacks from memories that did _not_ belong to him. So far, he'd been able to distinguish them as foreign, but what happened if he lost that ability? What if he started confusing his own memories with his double's? What if he woke up one morning and thought he _was_ his double? He'd almost done that when he'd woken up earlier, thinking that New Britain had been his own and not his double's. For a moment, he'd lost the sense of there being two Arthurs.

A soft knock roused him from his perpetual stare out at the clouds. He glanced at the door. No song. No Siphone. As far as he knew, both her and Lucaster were still out searching for Drovich. Then again, he supposed they could've found his hiding place and brought him back already. But that seemed unlikely. When no one barged into his room, he slipped from the soft chair cushion and padded over to the door, opening it cautiously.

His double stood on the other side, looking drained. Well, Arthur certainly wasn't expecting that. He opened the door wider, allowing his double to stride tiredly into his room, and closed it behind the man.

"You…okay?"

_Not really. The memory exchange takes an enormous amount of energy. _

"Can you not talk?"

_I can. But I don't feel like it._ The man staggered over to Arthur's bed and flopped down on it, letting out a loud yawn. _I need some rest._

"You have your own room for that."

_I'd prefer to stay here. Plus, I have something important to tell you._

"What now?" Arthur walked back to his chair and sat down, turning it toward his bed.

_Remember I had something else I needed to tell you after the memory exchange?_

Arthur thought about it. "Vaguely."

_Well, get over here. I want to tell you personally._

"We're in the same room. That's personal enough." After what had happened earlier, Arthur was determined to _not_ get anywhere near his double.

The man chuckle. _I have a picture to give you. _He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a folded photograph.

"A picture of what?"

_What I need to tell you about. Come here and take it._

"How about you just float it over here?"

His doubled sighed and cracked opened his eyes, eying Arthur with mild annoyance.

"Oh, right. _Rest._"

His double nodded.

"Fine then." Arthur concentrated on the picture and mentally snatched it from his double, catching it with his own fingers. "There."

His double chuckled again. _Ah, you caught me there. _

"I'm not an idiot, you know."

"I never meant to insinuate that you were, Arthur." His double finally said out loud. "Anyway, what I wanted to tell you was that when I invade a new world, I typically offer to let the most powerful country join me. This world is a bit an exception. Because of you." He smiled tiredly. "But, in the name of tradition, I decided to let my offer stand. I had Lucaster track down a very strong nation that I am particularly interested in letting join me." His eyes landed on the picture. "And I'm happy to say the man is considering my offer. He has a couple more days to give his answer, but he told Lucaster he was definitely thinking about it. Which makes me oh so happy!"

Arthur was frozen in his chair. What nation would _dare_ to betray their world to join these bastards? He quickly unfolded the picture. He eyes followed it as it fell to the floor, landing face up. His trembling fingers had lost their grip on it.

"No…" He whimpered.

The picture was of Alfred.

* * *

**Dro:** That's all for now. See you next time for the exciting torture episode conclusion!

**Next Chapter:** Drovich, ready to kill Lovino, suffers the shock of life. Feliciano then leads the others to where Drovich is holding Lovino, only to be horrified by Lovino's revelation.


	21. Dr Jeckyll and Mr Hyde

**Dro:** It's that time again, guys! Enjoy the exciting and ominous conclusion to the Romano-kidnap mini-arc! **And don't forget to drop Dro a review****!** Because Dro likes **reviews**, so **review**, okay?

**Chapter Summary:** Lovino, having gone through hell and back, waits for his inevitable end at Drovich's hands, only to be unwittingly saved by someone he wasn't expecting. Meanwhile, Feliciano leads the others to where Lovino is being held captive, where they get the shock of their lives.

**Warnings:** Violence/Torture

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Lovino whimpered out a shrill cry. He'd lost the ability to scream hours ago. Drovich was getting fed up with him now. The man was pacing back and forth, his boots scuffing against the concrete floor as he twirled the knife around. Another knife. His original one was buried in Lovino's shoulder. Every time he twitched, waves of pain flared from the wound. And if he said something that Drovich didn't like, the man would mentally twist the knife, causing Lovino so much pain that he couldn't understand why he hadn't passed out yet.

_Dio,_ _just get it over with!_ He was sure he'd either out pass out or die any moment now, and personally, he didn't care which one happened first at this point. His muscles were still twitching from the electric-like shocks that Drovich had shot through his system. His mouth was filled with blood that was steadily dripping down his chin. His throat was raw and his voice was hoarse. From screaming. Even if some miracle happened right now and something blasted Drovich to oblivion, Lovino was sure he'd still die. He would never be able to walk in this condition. He was completely resolved to die at this point, and he was sure it was going to happen soon.

Drovich was seething. Lovino had done everything the man said, every spell, every sort of energy transfer that the man knew. But nothing had worked. And Drovich knew why and had explained it to him. It wasn't really Drovich's magic anymore. Since Lovino was a natural compatible to some extent, the magic had…bonded with his body. Drovich was not a compatible. He drew his magic from a medium that came from another source altogether. As to what that source was, Drovich had been tight-lipped, but Lovino was sure it was some kind of huge clue that they needed to take these guys down. Now if only he wasn't on the verge death in a makeshift torture chamber.

He coughed up a glob of blood, and Drovich was suddenly in front of him, brutally backhanding him. "Don't you f'cking die on me yet, boy-yo. I _will_ get my m'gic b'ck b'fore you die."

_So he's planning on killing me no matter what, huh? _Lovino's vision blurred for a few seconds. _Please just get it over with then. I can't…I can't take this much longer._ If he'd still had control of his body, he would've cried, but he felt numb. Whatever Drovich had done to him had just about fried his nervous system. He couldn't even hold his head up anymore. His body wouldn't listen to him.

Drovich growled. "How to rem've it?" He seemed to be angrily contemplating his various failures to reacquire his lost magic, but it didn't look like he could come up with a solution. Lovino would've smiled if he could have. This bastard wasn't going to his magic back. Lovino knew that. Drovich knew that. The magic was basically fused into Lovino's body, wasn't it? Drovich had lost it permanently. Depriving this bastard of what he wanted…that would be Lovino's last victory.

Drovich scowled and clenched his fists. Apparently, Lovino had more control of his body than he thought because he felt his lips tugging up in the corner and forming a bloody, chapped-lipped, arrogant grin. He saw the fire in Drovich's eyes and watched, peacefully resigned, as Drovich held up the knife. _Finally…_He let his eyes slip close.

He felt the force of the magic as it blew by him, and his eyes wrenched themselves open just in time to see Drovich hit the wall with a sickening crack. Lovino didn't how much cracked, but he was sure it was more than the concrete wall, which now sported a huge broken indentation. Drovich was on the ground, eyes wide, gasping. Lovino, terrified, slid his fatigued gaze over to the doorway. The doorway was now bare, splinters littering the ground where a massive oak door had once been. And the man standing in the doorway…

_England?_

Lovino could hear his heart pounding. What was going on? England had been kidnapped, right? He was supposed to be somewhere aboard one of their ships…in a prison somewhere! So how…_how the hell is he here?_ Lovino watched, stunned beyond comprehension, as England marched forward, teleporting across the room until he stood in front of the fallen Drovich. Without even a single movement, England mentally pulled Drovich's body from the ground until he was floating vertically, boots barely brushing the concrete. Drovich cried out, and Lovino swallowed roughly as he witnessed the finger marks of an invisible hand indenting themselves into Drovich's neck.

Drovich struggled, grasping at his neck to no avail. Lovino watched as the man's consciousness started wavering, and his silently pleading eyes went unnoticed. England just scoffed.

"You fool. Did you honestly think you would get away with defying me?" He spat. "I have warned you time and time again, Drovich, that I am not one to be trifled with. You _do not disobey _me. Do you understand that?"

Drovich just kept choking, barely keeping a grasp on his consciousness.

"I should kill you right here, you know?"

A strangled gasp of terror broke free from Drovich's lips.

"What? You're going to cry about it now? You did this to yourself. I should just let you strangle to death. Maybe I will. Maybe I'll just let you hang there until you suffocate." He snorted. "But that would be cruel of me, wouldn't it?"

Drovich fell to the ground, gasping in air.

"You thought you were clever, didn't you? Trying to hide away where no one would think to look for you. Have forgotten that you use _my_ magic, Drovich? Mine. And I _always_ know where it is if I care to know. I tried to be kind at first. I sent Siphone and Lucaster to find you. But of course, they failed. And then I was _really_ annoyed."

Drovich struggled to sit up. "I'm s'rry, L'rd Brit'nnia. Pl'se. Pl'se f'rgive me. I…" His cracked glasses fell off his face, pieces of the lenses embedded in his cheeks where England had mentally crushed them.

"Give me a reason."

Drovich's eyes widened. "What?"

"I said, give me a reason. To forgive you. To let you live. Out of the three of you, you are the weakest and the most foolish. Siphone is exceptionally strong, and Lucaster is a gifted strategist. When I first met you, I thought you had enough ambition to better yourself until you reached their level. But I see I was wrong. You are selfish and foolish and weak. So give me a reason to let you live, Drovich."

"I…" Drovich looked to shocked to speak.

"You have ten seconds, boy."

Drovich's lips quivered. "Pl'se…I pr'mise I'll n'ver defy you ag'n. Pl'se."

"That's not a valid reason."

Drovich swallowed, his eyes darting back and forth as he desperately tried to find the words he needed to keep his life.

But he didn't.

And the next thing Lovino knew, there was a cane in Drovich's chest. England drove it straight through his heart and pulled it back out a second later, watching, bored, as Drovich's body slumped over.

"Pathetic." He sneered.

Lovino stopped breathing. His body couldn't handle the shock. Who _was_ this person? England had always been easily angered, but this…there was no way. And why was he implying that that the enemies were working for him? That couldn't be true. England couldn't possibly be behind all this…or could he? The realization struck him so hard he was sure his heart stopped beating. _England_ had been the one to bring them to this dimension. Sure, France had _claimed_ that the enemies had kidnapped England, but what if it had all been a ploy to keep his identity as their leader a secret?

The implications were disturbing. All this time…all this time England had been the one behind everything. _Motherfucker. My _fratello_ is in pain because of you. Gilbert lost his eye! Finland and Germany are dead! How dare you! How dare you! How could do this to your friends, you bastard!_ He would've screamed if his mouth had been working, but the only thing coming from between his lips was blood.

England finally seemed to notice his presence. His eyes quickly flicked over Lovino's form, indifferent. "Hm, so you're the one who took his power. Of all people, I'd never thought he'd lost it to an _Italy_." England chuckled. "God, he really was an imbecile." He paused for a moment, an eyebrow slowly shifting upward on his face. "Ah, but…you've split the power, haven't you? I can feel your link with another. Your brother?" England looked highly amused. "That's just…amazing! Who would've thought the Italy brothers would actually be compatible with magic?"

After getting a good laugh, he flicked his wrist. Lovino's bonds immediately fell to the floor, releasing him. But his body couldn't even sit up anymore. He began to tumble over and off the chair, but he stopped just before he hit the floor. Not by his own volition. England caught him with magic.

"Ah, but he really did a number on you, didn't he? You need training in order to use your magic effectively. I could give it to you, if you want." He smiled. "I feel like I've been making too many goodwill offers recently, but all of you are getting so interesting! I was sure this would be a boring venture when I first started working on it."

Boring. England had thought destroying their world would be boring? He'd bombed _his own people!_ Lovino wanted to scream at him. He wanted to pound his face into the ground. He wanted to _kill_ this bastard who'd dared to betray the world. Lovino floated gently down to the ground. England walked over to him and mumbled a "Hm." He crouched down and brushed a finger against Lovino's temple. Lovino gasped as an electric current ran through him. But where Drovich's magic had burned veins and singed nerves, England's magic was somehow cool and calming. Lovino could feel his wounds healing at a rapid rate.

After a few minutes, Lovino could feel his mobility returning. He was dead tired and weak, but his body was now back in one piece. His throat was still dry, but his mouth seemed to be back in working order. His muscles were still twitching, but his skin no longer burned. The current faded as England removed his hand.

"There. All good now? You should able to give me an answer, yes?"

"A—answer?" Lovino whispered. "You mean about joining you?"

"Of course."

"Hell no."

England raised both eyebrows, obviously surprised at Lovino's adamant rejection. Lovino prepared for a quick death, but England just started laughing.

"You've got spunk, kid. I thought you Italy brothers were nothing but weak cowards, but I see that my invasion has changed you for the better. Now I'm almost looking forward to fighting you. If you really intend to keep up this defiance, then you better be prepared for a vicious battle. When it comes time for us nations to fight each other in the end, I expect you to be a lot stronger." He winked. "I'm looking forward to a damn good battle to the death." With a curt bow and an conceited and deceptively kind smile, England took his leave. Just as he reached the doorway, he paused. "Oh, by the way, your friends are coming. I'm guessing your brother was able to track you here. They should be here in a few minutes to rescue you. I just thought it would be best to finish…my _business_ first." His voice slipped into a dark tone for a fraction of a second. "Anyway, do tell everyone I said hi!" Then he was gone.

* * *

Feliciano could _feel_ the magic teeming in this area. There were multiple signatures. His best guess was three, and that bothered him. Who else was here? It was a signature he didn't recognize. He tried to focus on where Lovino was in the building, but the best he could hone in on was the entire lower level. There was too much magic hanging around. It wasn't so much that there were three people here that almost made him want to turn around, but it was that third unknown person that had him shaking in his boots. He'd felt plenty magic by now, but this signature…it was…enormous…No, that wasn't the right word. Massive? Immense? No. Those were too _small_. It was something bigger than the largest amount he could come up with. As close to _infinite_ as he could possibly imagine.

"Feliciano?" Alfred whispered. "Are you okay?"

"I…I think we might have a problem. There's another person there. Someone besides Drovich. Someone _really_ powerful."

"How powerful is _really_ powerful?" Gilbert shifted his position, itching to burst into the building and rescue Lovino. Who the hell knew what had been done to him? For all he knew, Lovino could've been…_dismembered_ by now. He could've been maimed, burned, skinned alive. Gilbert had seen more than enough torture to know all the horrible things you could do to people and still keep them alive long enough to get answers out of them. They still weren't sure why Lovino had been kidnapped, but Feliciano was convinced it had to with Lovino's magic. He had gotten it from Drovich to begin with, so what if the enemies wanted it back? And just what were they willing to do to get it? And after they got it…would they…_dispose_ of Lovino?

Gilbert didn't want to admit that the answer to that question was "probably."

"So powerful that I can barely fathom it." Feliciano had visibly paled.

"Are you serious?" Francis asked. He rubbed his back. He was still in pain from Lovino's attack on him earlier, though he was now willing to own up to it. He _shouldn't_ have been that rude to Lovino. Just knowing that Lovino could very well be _dead_ now didn't help him feel any better.

"Dead serious. I…I don't think we can beat…" He trailed off, eyes widening. "Gone." Feliciano's eyes filled with confusion. That couldn't be right. Drovich's signature had just…

"What?" Alfred asked.

"Drovich's magic signature just…vanished."

"So that's good, right?" Francis piped up.

"Either that or it's a trap because they've realized we're hiding in the woods right outside." Gilbert murmured.

"It doesn't matter. We have to try to get Lovino. Let's…" Alfred paused as Feliciano held up a shaking hand.

"No, you don't get it. It's not like his signature disappeared because he teleported away or something. It just…_died_ out…"

"Wait, you mean like…Drovich is dead?" Gilbert furrowed his brows.

Feliciano nodded slowly.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?" Gilbert ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't…know." Feliciano had no clue what was going on inside that building. He _had_ to get in there, but that huge signature…He jumped as a pulse of magic zipped by, and he whipped around to face the direction it had gone.

"Feliciano?" Alfred's voice rose in concern.

"I thought…someone just…" He looked back at the old house. "He's gone." There was only one signature left in the house now. The impossibly massive one had just…he glanced back again…left?

"Who's gone? Lovino?" Gilbert swallowed.

Feliciano shook his head. "No, the other one. I don't…I don't know what's going on, but Lovino is alone in there now."

"Then let's go get him!" Alfred stood up.

Feliciano kept glancing back and forth, confused. Something felt…_familiar_ about that magic. He shook his head. "Right. It's all clear. Let's go."

"Are you sure?" Francis asked, wringing his hands.

Feliciano nodded, knowing Francis felt immense guilt. "Don't worry. He's alive. I can feel it."

Francis sighed and rose. "Then let's go get him."

They entered through the front door, everyone following Feliciano as he led them down the stairs to the multi-room basement level where he knew his brother had been held. As soon as he hit the last step, he could sense Lovino's exact location. He picked up his pace, rushing down the hallway, his heart racing as he spotted a destroyed doorway and what looked like a…smear of blood. He crossed the threshold and immediately spotted his brother. He failed to breath.

Lovino was leaning against the wall, sitting nonchalantly and glancing out of the broken window. His clothing was in tatters, his white shirt now _completely_ red. There was blood everywhere. In his hair, on his face, on his neck, legs, and arms. Feliciano almost screamed when Lovino didn't immediately move, and he released his pent up breathe when his _fratello_ finally turned his head and took in Feliciano's presence.

Lovino's eyes held the most _haunted_ expression he had ever seen.

Tense and anxious, he started walking closer to his brother. The others finally caught up to him, gasps filling the room as they took in Lovino's bloody form. Feliciano dropped down to his knees, gently brushing his hands against Lovino's face.

"_F—fratello?_ What happened? Are you okay?"

Lovino didn't answer, just returned his gaze to the window. Except, it _wasn't_ the window he was looking at, Feliciano realized. He was looking at something _beneath_ the window. Something doused with shadows. Something human-shaped and unmoving and bloody.

Drovich.

"Oh my God." Alfred's whisper broke the silence.

Feliciano looked back at his brother, terror in his veins. "Lovino…did you…?"

Lovino's shook his head lethargically, his eyes still distant and disturbed.

Feliciano was afraid to ask. "Then…who did this…who…?

"He was angry." Lovino spoke so softly, Feliciano nearly missed his words.

"W—who was angry?"

"So angry." Lovino mumbled. "I just…I just don't understand…why would he do this to us?"

"Who, _fratello_? Who did what?'

Lovino's pained green eyes finally refocused, and he stared at Feliciano, his voice thick and still wavering in disbelief. "England."

"What?" America exclaimed. "What about England?"

Feliciano had no clue what was going on, but he certainly understood Lovino's message. "Are you saying that…that England did this to Drovich? That he was the other person here?"

Lovino nodded.

"But how could_ Angleterre_ possibly do this? There is no way he could have been that strong magic you sensed, Feliciano. Arthur is…"

Francis' words were cut off by a laugh. Lovino's laugh. Low. Hysterical. Dry. Dark. It sent chills down Feliciano's spine. "_Fratello?_"

"We were all idiots. All this time, we've been worrying about England, thinking he was their captive, thinking he'd been imprisoned somewhere."

"What are you saying, Lovino?" Alfred's voice had gone tight. What was Lovino saying? He couldn't be implying that…

"This entire time…" Lovino breathed, his eyes far away again. "He's been…"

"He's been what?" Alfred shouted.

Lovino's fatigued eyes landed on Alfred.

"He's their leader."

* * *

**Dro:** Uh-oh. This is going to cause some problems.

**Next Chapter:** Arthur struggles to wrap his head around his double's plans and is forced to deal with his growing fear over just what it is his double wants to do with him. Meanwhile, Alfred reels from Lovino's revelation about Arthur, and Francis gives him a shocking request.


	22. The Grass is Always Greener

**Dro:** I'm not going to lie. I'm _in love_ with this chapter. Just the sheer level of irony alone! I love chapters that make my writer senses tingle! Sometimes, even my fanfiction brings out the novelist in me. Amazing, isn't it? Anyway, I hope you love this chapter as much as I do. **If so, do drop Dro a review and tell me so!** I like knowing how you feel, **so review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur is annoyed by and made even more wary of his double. Meanwhile, Alfred reels from the knowledge of Arthur's betrayal, and Francis requests something of him that leaves him stunned.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** No, I do not own Hetalia. I'm _not_ a Japanese man named Himaruya Hidekaz. If you don't believe, I have plenty of pics on hand to prove my claims.

* * *

Arthur let out a content sigh. He felt so comfortable in his sheets, soft and warm. His head rested against a downy pillow. Sunlight filtered through the window and onto his face, waking him up ever so slowly. He hadn't had such a good night's sleep in _years_. He wondered idly if he could have every night like this. Restful. Peaceful. A low buzz of content running through his bones that soothed his tired muscles. A strong arm around his waist, reassuring. A warm chest against his back, the embrace of a lover that eased all his worries.

Wait, what?

He wrenched his eyelids open and leapt up, unintentionally falling over himself and off the bed. His head hit the floor with a dull thud, and he groaned loudly. His legs were still on the bed, his body overturned in an awkward position. A low chuckle rolled over the sheets and down to where Arthur now rested. Arthur's face started burning. He had not just been in bed with…Without even thinking, he teleported himself back onto the bed, coming face to face with his other self's sleepy eyes. The man looked immensely amused in a very tired way, though he didn't looked quite as exhausted as he had the day before. There was also something else. Arthur prodded the man with his magic.

More.

His double had _more_ power now.

Arthur furrowed his brows, confused. "How did you…?"

"I found Drovich's services to no longer be necessary."

"O—oh…" He'd killed his own henchman? Arthur tried to snap himself out of the disbelief by changing the subject. "So, why were you in bed with me?"

He double chuckled, letting himself flop back down onto the sheets. "I like you."

"And…?"

"I like being near you."

"Yeah? Well, I'm mad at you, so leave me alone." Arthur snapped. He hadn't forgotten about yesterday.

"Mad at me?" His other self pouted. "What for?"

"Like you don't know."

"Oh, the America thing? Stop pretending that's my fault. If he wants to join me, that's his business."

"Alfred would never willingly join you!"

"Wouldn't he? He's ambitious, powerful, and apparently, easily tempted by gracious offers. He seems like the perfect type of person to be attracted to an offer like this." His double smiled, obviously sifting through Arthur's memories.

"Yes, well Alfred also happens to have a hero complex, not to mention he's completely overprotective when it comes to his friends. Do you honestly expect me to believe he's suddenly decided to forsake all his friends and betray his own planet?"

His double laughed. "Of course not, Arthur. He doesn't actually want to join me."

"Um…wait, what now? I thought you said…"

"I'm not a fool, Arthur. And neither is your America. He sees this as an opportunity to get aboard my ship, learn about us, and possibly sabotage us from the inside. And oh, probably to save you too."

"Wait, then why are you…?"

"Because, once I actually get him, then I can manipulate him into actually wanting to join us."

"You. Join you." Arthur barked. "I'm not one of you. And Alfred will never really join, no matter what you do to him."

His double's eyes were closed, but Arthur was sure he could feel the amusement rolling off them. "Whatever you say, Arthur."

_Damn him! Damn that fucker! _Arthur would _have_ to get a hold of Alfred before his double did. The moment Alfred stepped foot on this damned airship, he would become another pawn for his double. He couldn't let that happen. Not to Alfred. He couldn't let the world lose one of their greatest chances at winning. _Damn it, Alfred! Why do you always have to be the hero? _Alfred had probably seen this as the perfect opportunity to come rescue "Artie" and save the day. _God damn you, you stupid boy!_

"That was a lot of 'damns,' Arthur." His double mumbled.

Arthur blushed. He'd forgotten his double could do that. "Whatever. Just don't fool yourself into thinking I'm on your side in any sort of way. Or Alfred either. Like you said, he's not a fool. He'll figure out whatever it is you try to do to manipulate him."

"You're right. He probably will. But that doesn't mean he'll be able to stop me."

"What…? How would he not…?" Arthur's tone darkened. "What are you planning?" He tried to rifle through his memories to find out just what his double was plotting, but he came up short. All he found was _'I probably shouldn't figure out what exactly to do with the boy until I after I give Arthur my memories.'_ "Oh, you clever little wanker."

His double laughed loudly, his chest heaving. "Ah, yes! I spent my time searching for Drovich yesterday plotting out the fine details of my little plan with your America. Sorry, Arthur, no sneak peaks for you!"

Arthur growled and moved to get off the bed, but a hand on his wrist stopped him. He glared at his double. "Let me go. And get out of my bed. You're not welcome here. Ever."

His double just smiled sadly, and it struck an odd chord in Arthur's chest. "Fine. I'll leave." The man grinned. "After you give me a good morning kiss."

"Oh, you…!" Arthur tried to hold back the heat in cheeks but failed. The grip on his wrist tightened, a sure the sign the man wouldn't release him until he complied. Resigning himself to his fate, Arthur leaned down and pressed his lips to his double's. The man's other hand immediately grasped the back of his head, holding him in place while he eagerly responded. Arthur felt that sense of completeness rushing back toward them at the speed of light, and he was suddenly terrified. He tried to pull away, but his double just flicked his tongue out and prodded at Arthur's lips.

_Stop! I don't want this!_

_Don't lie, Arthur. We both want this. _

The feeling hit him then, consuming all his opposition. Arthur was lost in it again, and he found himself opening his mouth to his double's tongue. He pressed himself against his double, practically laying on top of him. Arthur's sense of time faded away, and he kissed back with renewed vigor. Why did this feel so good? The small pocket of resistance that remained in the back of mind told him something was seriously wrong with all this, but it was a weak thought, and it only crossed Arthur's mind in passing as he pressed his tongue against his double's.

Then his double pulled away. Arthur groaned in frustration, trying to renew their kiss, but his double held him back. "That's enough." He breathed, his lips and cheeks flushed.

Arthur panted, coming back down from his high. "You bastard." He roughly pulled away from his double. "I don't know what the hell happens when we do that, but I'm not stupid enough to think it's something innocuous. You're plotting something for me, and I know it has to with this."

His double nodded, not bothering to deny it. "You're right. I am." He shrugged. "What of it? Will you deny me if I shower you with kisses, Arthur? Would you push me away if I tried to make love to you?" Arthur paled. "You wouldn't, would you? Don't deny it. Every moment we kiss drives you closer to completely giving yourself over to me."

"And what would that accomplish?" Arthur dared to ask.

"Sex? By itself? Nothing. It's not the physical reactions that matter."

"Then why do all this?"

"Because it's a catalyst that accelerates the process I need complete. And," he chuckled, "I like it, of course."

"What process?"

His double winked. "Well, that's the secret, isn't it?"

* * *

Alfred sat against the cold concrete of the storage shed. The clouds cast shadows around him, speckles of light and darkness mixing together like the warring thoughts in his mind. He knew where everyone was now. All of them had been called to an emergency meeting. A meeting to announce that…that Arthur was the one…

Alfred clenched his aching hands, glancing at the broken concrete in front of him. How many times had he punched the ground now? How many times had he screamed at the sky, begging whoever was up there to wake him up from this nightmare? He could feel the blood on his knuckles underneath his gloves, smeared and sticky. But he didn't care.

He wished more than anything that Lovino had been confused. But even after getting rest and recuperating from his exhaustion—because despite the blood, he'd been completely _healed_—he'd still stuck with his story. He'd seen Arthur—Arthur, damn it!—kill Drovich and plainly state that the enemy nations were working for him. Alfred ground his teeth and bit back a scream, running his hands through his hair. This couldn't be happening. Arthur…Arthur was the person he trusted most in the world. They'd been through so much together over the years.

How could Arthur have planned this behind all their backs? How could he have even considered it in the first place? He could he betray all his friends, all his loved ones? How he could sentence the innocent humans of the world to this? His _own_ people? How could he have been this _sick_ behind the scenes? How could he have hidden this kind of ambition from them?

The concrete cracked under his first again, pain surging up his arm. But he didn't care. A drop of water landed on his glove, and he glanced up at the sky. But the clouds were puffy and white and innocently taunting him. No, it wasn't rain. He was crying. He slammed his head back against the shed.

"Why?" He cried out. "Why, damn it? Why would you do this to me? To us?"

The only answer he received was a gust of wind in his face, chilling his tears.

"Damn you, Arthur. Damn you to hell."

"You are stronger than I am if you can actually manage to say that."

Alfred jumped, whipping his head to the left, where the voice had suddenly come from. Francis leaned against the wall of the shed, blue eyes looking longingly at the sky. "I cannot even bring myself to say his name." He slid down the wall and came to rest next to Alfred.

"Why?"

Francis shrugged. "If only I knew. I can't believe I never suspected it though."

"What do you mean? Did he do something suspicious?"

Francis shook his head. "In a way, no. He has always been obsessed with his magic. I just assumed he was working on something new and exciting. But in another way, yes. He was so intent on 'showing me' his greatest achievement in life. He claimed this spell would change the world forever, and that no one would mock him any longer. At that time, I rolled my eyes and laughed. Because…_Angleterre_…had said things like that many times in the past." Francis inhaled deeply. "But now I'm wondering if I should've taken him more seriously. I can't help but think all my mockery of him, all the cruel jokes we've all played on him…I can't help but think that all this time…maybe he was slowly cracking inside. Maybe…"

"You're saying you think he went insane?"

"It's possible, isn't it? And likely, if you ask me. The man I knew loved his country, his world. He would never have destroyed it like this. But what if he's not the man I knew anymore? What if that man has been broken and replaced with a twisted lookalike? And you know, it hurts me…so much…to even consider I may have had a hand in causing it."

"No. This is no one's fault." Alfred replied. "And we're not going to dwell on this. We…" he licked his lips. "Our only goal should be stopping him, Francis. We have to stop him. We can't let our feelings get In the way." If only Francis knew how much it hurt Alfred to say that. Then again, perhaps he did.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. They simply sat together and stared up at the spotted sky, unclear, unsure. Alfred stiffened as he felt a hand land on his own. He glanced to Francis to find the man gazing intently from Alfred's gloved hands, the material now scuffed and torn, to the obviously recently broken concrete. "You hurt yourself." Francis stated calmly.

"I was just…frustrated."

"Let me see."

Alfred didn't protest as Francis gently tugged the gloves off his hands, eying them with pity as he roved over the bloodied knuckles, the skin torn and sheared with each impact on the concrete. Alfred half-expected the man to drop his hands in disgust, so he went rigid as Francis leaned down and kissed each mutilated knuckle. He felt the heat rise into his cheeks. "Um, Francis?"

"Sh." He heard Francis whisper as he moved to the next hand. Alfred didn't even breathe after that. After Francis finished his odd display, he brushed his thumbs softly against Alfred's still oozing knuckles, little shocks of pain running through as the foreign skin touched them. Alfred grunted.

He had no time to react as Francis suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace. Francis' warm cheek brushed past his neck as he spoke. "Promise me something, _Amerique._"

"What?" Alfred whispered.

"Promise me that if…that if we cannot save Arthur from this madness…Promise me you will not let him suffer in it."

"What are you saying?"

"Promise me that if we cannot save him, you will kill him."

Alfred's sharp intake of breathe came with the smell of alcohol and sweat. "You're drunk, France. You need to rest. We can talk about this later."

Francis just held him tighter. "Promise me!" He yelled.

"I…I can't…"

A choked sob broke from Francis' lips. "Please! I can't do this, Alfred. I can't see him like this! I can't bear to see him if he's…if we can't fix him…if he's truly lost to us…I can't bear to think of keeping him alive. Why make him suffer like this if he's truly lost his mind? If he has truly left his sanity and cannot be brought back to it, then he is no longer our _Angleterre!"_

"Francis, we don't even know if he's actually crazy or not."

Francis gripped increased to the point of pain. Alfred bit his lip. "Are you telling me you believe him to truly be this wicked, then?"

"Of course not! I love Arthur! I _know_ him."

"Tell me then," Francis said, voice now soft again, "why would he do this if he had not lost his mind?"

"I…I don't know…"

"So you see, there are really very few options we can look to here. So promise me! Promise me! Please!"

"Why me, Francis? Why do I have to be the one…?"

"Because he _loves you_. And if there is any shred of himself let inside whatever monster he's become, then he will be happy knowing you are the one who stopped him from this insanity!"

A sudden thought struck Alfred, and he was immediately wracked with pity. "Francis…" He hugged the man back. "You in love with Arthur, aren't you?"

Francis stiffened in his grip.

"How long?" Alfred whispered.

He heard Francis biting back sobs, and the man didn't reply for several moments.

"For longer than you have been alive, Alfred."

* * *

**Dro: **Oh France. The irony! By the way, does it really surprise anyone that I'm a novelist? No? I'm pretty sure no is the answer here. Anyway, what did you think? Oh, the sub-plots I'm setting up in this story.

**Next Story:** Feliciano and Lovino practice magic together, but Feli can only concentrate on the fact that Alfred is leaving the next day. Worried, he goes looking for the man he now loves, and the pair of them finally take the next step in their relationship. (read: _sex_)


	23. By the Dawn's Early Light

**Dro:** Would've had this out earlier, but I had a two-page paper to write, so I wrote it in the hour between my Japanese and Brit Lit classes where I usually work on fanfics. Anyway, here it is. Enjoy the sex. **And review.** Not because of the sex. I just like **reviews.**

**Chapter Summary:** Feli and Lovi practice magic together. Feli confronts Alfred about his departure the next day. Then sex.

**Warnings:** Hm, let me think. Sex?

**Disclaimer:** Dro will not ever own APH, just the sex.

* * *

The target exploded into a mass of charred ashes, going up in a marvelous ball of flame. The next one suffered the same fate. And the next. The crowd stood around, stunned, his fellow nations completely awed at such a display of power. They'd already been shocked to watch the brothers go at it with each other, Lovino teaching Feliciano how to teleport as they fought. It had morphed form a vicious hand to hand battle into a graceful dance of illusions, each Italy disappearing and reappearing in tandem, bodies sliding by each other inches apart, swings and kicks missing by centimeters, only for the limbs that threw them to vanish in a dim flash of violet.

Now they stood silently, watching the targets burn to ashes in the distance. Lovino stood a few feet behind him, eyes wide. He hadn't figured out how to make guns do that yet, and Feliciano really hadn't been much help in explaining. Right now, his mind wasn't even focused on the scene before him. He was shooting off rounds reflexively, his body now completely accustomed with the proper amount of magic to do it with. His brain was on a different wavelength than "training" or "practice" or "showing off magic to their friends." He was thinking about one thing and one thing only: Alfred.

Alfred was leaving tomorrow. After hearing the news about England, Feliciano had been determined to stop him, but Alfred seemed even more driven than before to go through with this. He seemed to think that England being the mastermind would give him even more an edge. He knew England, right? So he should be able to figure out the man's plans and weaknesses. Or so he believed. Feliciano had a very bad feeling about all of this, and he felt like they were all missing some incredibly important piece of information. What that piece was, however, he couldn't even begin to guess.

"Can I try again?" Lovino's voice permeated his thoughts. He turned to look at his _fratello_ and smiled, handing the weapon over to him. He was using a different gun than before, but he'd discovered how to make each weapon work the same way. It was almost a two part process. Pump magic into the barrel to make it able to sustain the magic he would then pump into the bullets, which would make them explode violently on impact. He'd explained in detail to Lovino, but for some reason, his brother was having trouble making it work properly.

He moved back as Lovino took his place, aiming at one of the targets in the distance. Feliciano's periphery caught the subtle movements of a few spectators taking a few steps back. He chuckled to himself. Last time Lovino had been up to bat, the gun had backfire and a huge fireball had shot at the crowd. Oops. But they insisted on watching, as irritating as it was. Gilbert stood leaning against the garage wall, red eye amused. Feliciano smiled. Gilbert and Lovino seemed to have become even closer after his _fratello's_ close call the a few days ago. Antonio had begged for Lovino's forgiveness, and they'd both agreed to forgive one another for their sins. They were obviously not together anymore, but they were on good terms again, and that was all Feliciano could ask for. He couldn't stand watching his friends tear each other apart like that, especially while they should've been focusing on the enemy.

A target blew up in the distance. Lovino stumbled backward, the recoil sending him sprawling. Feliciano willed himself forward and caught his brother before he hit the ground. "You did it, _fratell_o_!" _Feliciano eyed the smoking target. "See? I told you you could do it."

"Ah…that was…weird." Lovino shook his head, brushing the force of the recoil off. "I wasn't expecting to be blown backward."

Feliciano chuckled. "I warned you about that."

"I thought you were exaggerating."

"Yeah, I wasn't."

"I got that now." Lovino rose with Feliciano's help to see a clapping crowd.

"Way to go, kid!" Gilbert whooped. Feliciano spotted a small, affectionate smile flash across his brother's face. "That was awesome!" Gilbert winked.

Feliciano stretched, faking exhaustion. "You can keep practicing if you want. I think I'll go take a siesta, yeah?"

Lovino nodded. "Yeah, you look a little tired. Get some rest. You shouldn't strain yourself."

Feliciano patted his shoulder. "You either."

* * *

Feliciano took his time walking to the weapons room. He was furiously trying to force down his blush. He'd accidentally walked in on Canada and Russia making out a few minutes ago, thinking perhaps Alfred was visiting his brother. _Dio, that was embarrassing._ He'd promised not to tell anyone about their relationship, as it was apparently a secret. He thought of Alfred's reaction to Ivan being his twin's lover. Yeah, that wouldn't go over well. The pair had seemed pretty nervous he'd spoil their secret since he was with Alfred, but he'd assured them that he would never violate a secret like that since it wasn't his to tell. Thankfully, they'd eventually calmed down, and he'd even got off without a not-so-subtle threat from Russia.

He wrenched open the weapon's room door. Matthew had said his brother had been sent on an errand by his boss to fetch him a catalogue of the base's weapon storage. Apparently, the weapons room was also where they stored the weapons _files_. _How dumb. How would he even manage to find anything in this place?_ The room was musty and dirty and obviously hadn't been cleaned in several years. The weapons were dull and dusty from disuse. This place had been a storage facility only for a long time, and it had only been reopened after the invasion. Granted, it was in a prime location to hide. He frowned. That wouldn't last much longer though, considering the enemy knew exactly they were hiding. He felt incredibly guilty for not alerting the base to that, but it would incriminate both himself and Alfred to having had secret contact with the enemy, and he couldn't risk that. Not yet.

After Alfred went through with his plan, they would no doubt move headquarters anyway, seeing as Alfred obviously knew where it was, and the bosses would assume he'd lead the enemy to them. Plus, if the enemy had not attacked yet, Feliciano could safely assume that the enemy's boss…England…had some kind of other plan in mind than just straight wiping them all out. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out what it was, but as long it kept them safe until they moved bases, he really didn't care at the moment.

He stepped into the dirty room, spotting a dim light at the end of a long line of shelves. Alfred stood in front of it, rifling through papers in an rusty file cabinet. Grinning to himself, Feliciano willed himself right behind Alfred and wrapped his hands around the man. Alfred squeaked, and Feliciano burst out laughing.

"Feli?"

"Sorry!" He said between chuckles. "I couldn't resist."

"Don't do that!" Alfred was sucking in deep breaths, looking like he was about to start hyperventilating.

"Are you really _that_ scared of ghosts?" Feliciano teased.

He pouted. "You have no idea."

Feliciano rolled his eyes and leaned in, kissing Alfred softly. Alfred responded to the quick kiss before turning around and getting back to his business. Feliciano rested his head on the man's shoulder, watching as he sifted through the old, faded papers. "Why'd they make you do this anyway? Surely they have plenty of personnel for this."

"Not anymore. A lot of them have been dispatched to destroyed areas for relief. The base is pretty sparsely staffed now."

"Ah. I see." He couldn't help but feel guilty. So many had died, and more were steadily dying. The air raids continued day and night, and they were merciless. They'd taken down almost all the major cities now, though they'd thankfully spared all the nuclear facilities. Obviously, the enemy _wanted_ this world. Causing a mass extinction event and nuclear winter probably wasn't the enemy's idea of _conquering_ a planet. At least they could rely on having some kind of power source in case the airships destroyed all the oil pipelines. What Feliciano was most concerned about, however, were the people themselves. Everyone had been forced to flee to rural areas. What if the enemy moved onto them too? What if they weren't satisfied after the cities? What if they just kept killing and killing until there were no more fields and no more food and shelter and people…people just started starving and freezing to death?

"Don't worry, Feliciano. We're going to win."

"How do you know?" He whispered.

"Because I'm going to make sure of it." Alfred's voice was hard, as it had been the day before. Something had happened that Alfred wasn't telling him.

"Alfred, about Arthur…"

"Don't. I've talked about this enough with more than enough people."

Of course he had. Everyone had been consoling Matthew and Alfred and Francis. They'd been the ones closest to England. Alfred had been very open with him about his past romantic relationship with Arthur and that he still loved the man a lot. Feliciano understood. More than anyone he understood that feeling of a lingering, yet extinguished love.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

"No. No. You're not…hurting me. I've just talked about this enough. I know what I may have to do. I'm not going to fool myself or lie to myself. I'm through theorizing and guessing and trying to talk myself out of doing necessary things."

Feliciano immediately knew what he meant. "You're going to…kill him, aren't you?"

Alfred's voice was strained. "If that's what it comes to, yeah."

Not even the sincerest apology was strong enough to comfort Alfred, so Feliciano just turned him around and hugged him tightly. Alfred mimicked him, burying his face in Feliciano's hair. "It hurts. So much."

"I know." He had never experienced this kind of betrayal, but _Dio_ if he didn't know what if felt like to lose someone he loved that much.

Alfred pulled away, blue eyes blinking away tears. He captured Feliciano's lips in a deep kiss, and Feliciano sighed as their tongues met. Alfred stroked his cheek gently for several seconds as their mouths moved in tandem, tongues tugging and fighting and tasting and sliding. "I love you." Alfred whispered as they pulled apart.

Feliciano looked him in the eye. "And I you."

Alfred smiled. And Feliciano placed that smile in a chest in the deepest part of his heart and put a lock on it, refusing to ever let it go.

"You leave tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Feliciano didn't need to say anything else.

* * *

The lock on the door slid into place. His shirt slid off his shoulders, slipping almost silently to the floor in a quiet rustle of fabric. Moonlight filtered through the window, an blue-white glow illuminating everything around him. The mirror reflected him as he moved past it, the detail of his relaxed muscles perfectly defined. Black boots, leather glinting in the light, landed with a thud on the carpeted floor, forgotten immediately. Hands caught his chest, light caressing touches like shocks tracing over his abdomen.

He sank down onto the mattress, hovering over the man beneath him. Feliciano's soft blush was evident even now, lights off, night risen. Gorgeous brown locks framed his head, highlighting every delicate feature of his welcoming face. His high cheekbones, flushed dark. His half-lidded eyes, warm with desire. His swollen lips, beckoning his lover's pair to meet them again. He picked up his hand and gently traced the scar. Feliciano stiffened, eyes widening.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise." Alfred whispered.

Feliciano melted at his words. Their lips met again. Alfred tugged at Feliciano's lower lip, and he responded with a teasing flick of his tongue. Alfred broke the contact of their lips, trailing his own down Feliciano's delicate jaw. He nipped at Feliciano's ear, and Feliciano gasped. He planted a kissed at the edge of Feliciano's jawbone before ghosting his lips down his neck. He latched on to the smooth curve of Feliciano's neck and sucked slowly. Feliciano grunted surprise, running his hands through Alfred's soft golden hair.

Alfred continued his path downward, fingers flicking at sensitive nipples, earning him soft groans. His lips traced their way around Feliciano's muscles, passing over their small, toned curves. Fingers deftly undid the buttons of his pants, quickly undoing his own. Two pairs landed in a heap in the floor, along with both undergarments. Their eyes met again, Feliciano's smiling even without the aid of his lips. Alfred pressed his forehead into Feliciano's chest.

"I love you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

A cool hand ran up Feliciano's thigh, and his eyes involuntarily closed. Fingers wrapped around the beginning of an arousal, stroking slowly. A soft moan passed through his lips. Alfred continued his gentled ministrations, Feliciano's breath getting shallower every second. He pressed his head back and groaned loudly. "_Alfred."_ The sound of a bottle opening relieved him. _Finally_. A slick finger touched pressed into him, and he hissed.

"Are you alright?" Alfred immediately said.

"I'm fine. Keep going." He shifted himself upward, pressing the finger further in. Alfred grunted. He stretched him slowly, as gently as he could manage. Feliciano giggled. "I'm not a virgin, Alfred."

Alfred grinned and winked mischievously, suddenly pressing three fingers roughly against something. Feliciano arched his back, crying out. "_You…_oh, do that again." He complied. "_Alfred!_" He moaned breathlessly.

Alfred watched Feliciano's face, his lips parted and eyes clenched in ecstasy. A wave of desire rolled through him. He removed his fingers. "Are you ready?"

"Yes! Just do it! Please, Alfred!" His legs wrapped themselves tightly around Alfred's chest. Alfred slowly pressed himself inside, watching Feliciano's face for any unnecessary pain. Seeing none, he pushed himself all the way in. Feliciano gasped. "Move!"

He did. Their rhythm was perfection. Feliciano's lithe body moved in time to meet his thrusts. Sweat rolled down Alfred's back, disturbing the paths Feliciano's fingers took as they slowly raked their wave across his muscles. Then the fingers in his hair, tugging in just the right way that made Alfred go crazy. Feliciano's moans were a mix of "_God" _and_ "Yes"_ and_ "More" _and _"Harder" _and beautiful, panted Italian that made Alfred sure he was going to explode in bliss.

His pace increased, each thrust accompanied by a husky declaration of love. The light poured on them, the moon letting them each see their lover's face in the final moments of climax. Alfred rode through his orgasm with more thrusts, his careful hand still wrapped around Feliciano as the smaller man moaned out his name, finishing himself a few seconds ahead.

For the briefest moment, neither man said a word. Feliciano stared up at him, deep brown pools of adoration accompanying his only words. "I love you." How many times had they said it now? He didn't know and didn't care. All he knew was that he meant it each and every time. Alfred slowly pulled out and swooped down for a final, breathtaking kiss.

"And I you."

He dropped down next to his spent lover, eyes level. Feliciano's hand cupped his cheek. "You take all my troubles away, you know? All my fears are banished whenever you touch me, Alfred. So please, for me, please come back. I need you to fight my fears."

Alfred smiled. "No you don't. You're strong enough to beat them on your own. When I come back, when this over and I come back to you, it won't be to help you fight your fears." He pressed their foreheads together. "It will be so I can proclaim to the world that the man I love is this strong, courageous, wonderful man named Feliciano Vargas."

For the first time since the day he'd lost Ludwig, Feliciano fell asleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

**Dro:** Wow, a vanilla sex fluff fest. Well that was only 23 chapters in the making. Should I have made it sadder? I mean, he leaves anyway next chapter, so I guess I can give them one night of peace.

**Next Chapter:** Alfred goes with Lucaster to the airship above Barcelona, where he finds Arthur waiting for him. Arthur makes an...odd request. Or is odd? Or a request? Hm.


	24. From Paris With Love

**Dro:** You know what, guys? I was on a roll today. I wrote 2,100 words of Chapter 25 of this earlier in _50_ minutes. That was like, awesome! And so is the entire chapter at nearly 4,000 words. And so is this chapter, for that matter. I like this chapter. I hope you do too. If you do, **drop me a review!** Because **reviews** make me happy, and **reviews** make me want to write more awesome chapters. -wink-

**Chapter Summary: **Arthur is forced to deal with more of his double's antics. Alfred finally "betrays" everyone and comes face to face with Arthur. Or does he?

**Warnings:** Language, Dub-con (Non-con?) Sexual Situations (Not sure how to warn this one without giving it away...but there's no actual sex, so I'm summing we're good.)

**Disclaimer: **Dro does not claim any ownership of APH. Mostly because Dro is not a Japanese man named Himaruya Hidekaz, but also probably because she has the title of "the writer that always turns comedy into tragedy," and the Writing Gods thought it was better if she didn't create APH.

* * *

His hair was getting too long. He flicked at one of the blond locks with his fingers, frowning in distaste. It made him look all the more like his double. He'd searched his bathroom for a pair of scissors but had come up short, his double obviously not trusting him to refrain from using them as a weapon. Scoffing, he blew a strand of the blond monstrosity out of his eyes and left the bathroom. He stopped in front of the pile of clothing on the bed, groaning again. If wasn't bad enough that his double expected him to dress like one of his underlings, now the man had provided with some of his _own_ clothes. Because apparently, "You'll be more comfortable wearing something tailored to your body, right?"

He'd wanted to snap that they didn't have the same body, but even Arthur knew that would've been a complete lie. The only difference between them was their scars. He knew too, exactly which ones were where on his double's body. Occasionally—and frighteningly—Arthur would sometimes find himself absently rubbing at some old scar he'd gotten from a battle with Gaul, only to suddenly remember that his France was not his double's Gaul and he did not have that particular scar. But even still, he would look to check, as if he was afraid memories weren't the only thing he'd gotten.

Shaking his head, he slipped on his double's clothes, buttoning everything up and straightening his collar, and took a long look at himself in the mirror. He cringed. He looked _exactly_ like his double now. The same clothing. The same hair length. What was next? That tiny little distinguishing scar that was the only facial feature that could set them apart? Would his double give him one for himself so they could be perfectly identical? He started feeling a little sick.

A familiar knock roused him from his gaze. His _own_ knock. He couldn't believe they even _knocked_ the same way. Without looking, he mentally opened the door. Locking it was pointless, both from the inside and out. His double could unlock it without a key and so could he. If Arthur was just a _tad_ better at teleporting, he could've gotten off this death trap, but as it stood, over a mile down to the ground was just _a bit_ out of his range.

His double entered nonchalantly, waving in greeting. "How're you this morning?" His eyes roved over Arthur's identical form, and his grin grew even larger. "My, you look stunning today."

"Vain, are we?"

"Aren't we though?"

Arthur snorted. "I'm still angry at you. Don't delude yourself."

His double chucked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Oh, when Alfred got onto this blasted ship, Arthur was going to beat the shit out of him. He'd wanted to shift the blame back on his double somehow, but that had been impossible. His double may have had a plan for Alfred, but it was Alfred's own plan that would be the boy's undoing, and therefore, he was going to beat that git silly the moment he caught sight of him.

"So, are you too angry for a kiss?"

He frowned. "Is that all you think about?"

His double shrugged. "Is it bad that I want to kiss you often?"

"You're me."

"So I shouldn't love myself then?"

"Not like this." He grumbled.

"So, you're saying you don't like it then?" His double whispered into ear, suddenly _there_, their bodies inches away. Arthur felt heat rushing to places he would've much rather ignored.

"I didn't say that. I just said it's a little strange that you're in love with yourself."

His double turned his head and laughed. "_That's_ strange? Arthur, I'm from another _dimension_, and you think me being attracted to an alternate version of myself if strange? I'd put a lot of other things before this on the strangeness scale."

"True enough." He murmured.

The man pulled back to face him, their noses brushing. Arthur tensed, feeling betrayed by his body's reactions. His double just smirked and leaned in, pressing his lips to Arthur's in a dry, chaste peck. Then he was back at the door, chuckling to himself. "By the way, your ex will probably be here some time tonight, so prepare yourself to…Oh, I don't know, you said you wanted to beat him up, right? Well, get ready for that then?" He shrugged, and then he was off.

Arthur stood there dumbfounded.

_Filthy tease!_

_Wait…did he just refer to Alfred as my ex?_

_

* * *

_

They'd waited until dark, and then Feliciano had taken them both outside the base. He knew they still had a fair amount of walking to do, and he hoped they could get to Barcelona before midnight. He would teleport them into the city as soon as he saw it, but before then, he could only manage a teleport every few miles. Teleporting long distances took a lot of energy. So now they were basically jogging along the road that led back to the city. They needed hurry because Feliciano had to get back to the base before Lovino woke up. If his _fratello_ woke up, he would immediately know Feliciano had left. They could sense each other fully now. He needed to avoid suspicion in order for Alfred's plan to work, especially since he was the only one in on it. He eyed his lover, who was a few paces ahead.

He couldn't help but smile. The night before…it was etched into his memory now, clear as day. And _Dio,_ he certainly hoped that it would be the first of many such nights. He let that thought keep his hopes up. Once this was over, he and Alfred could settle into a steady relationship, one untarnished by brutal war and death and fear. That was his goal now. Get through, alive and well, so he could be with Alfred. He'd cast off the corrosive cloak of revenge now. He knew better. He would fight to win and save, not to avenge. That was a path to destruction.

"There it is." Alfred said suddenly, perking up.

Feliciano finally let his eyes leave his lover and trail down the road. Sure enough, Barcelona was just visible on the horizon. He was immediately consumed with intense separation anxiety.

"Can you do it from here, or do we need to be closer?"

"Just a little closer." He breathed out.

They walked on for another ten minutes, now side by side, hands linked. When Feliciano found himself within range, he took a deep breath and gripped Alfred's hand, willing them both to the edge of the destroyed metropolis. He released the air and shut his eyes tightly before daring to look at Alfred. Their eyes met, and he was lost in the man again. Alfred kissed him desperately, holding him as close as he possibly could, as if he would disintegrate in the man's arms at a moment's notice. He kissed Alfred's back with every emotion running through his veins. Love. Adoration. Joy. Fear. Anxiety.

"I love you. Please be careful." He whispered against Alfred's lips.

"You too." Alfred answered to both questions before reluctantly breaking away from him. They stood in the middle of a street, Alfred gazing wistfully off into the distance. "You should probably head out now."

"No. Just in case….just in case he was lying…I'll hide somewhere."

"He'll sense you though."

"Fine. Then I'll just stand here as a warning." He crossed his arms.

Alfred smirked and shrugged. "Well, I guess if he _is_ a lying bastard, then we can certainly take him down together, eh?"

Feliciano nodded. "So, where did he say he'd meet you?"

"Nowhere. He said he'd find me if I was anywhere in the city. So just stay in one place and wait for him." Alfred checked his watch. "It's almost midnight, so, I feel like he should be any minute now."

Feliciano jumped, wrenching his mouth to say something as his senses lit up, but Lucaster beat him to it.

"Already am."

Alfred whipped around, coming face to face with the pale haired, scythe-wielding nation.

He raised an eyebrow. "Evening, boy." He flicked interested eyes to Feliciano. "I wasn't expecting company. Though I can't say I'm too surprised. One of the one's who took Drovich's power, right?"

Feliciano nodded, jaw tight.

"So, are you the one he tortured or the younger brother?" A white eyebrow shot up.

"The latter."

"Ah. I see. Lucky for you then, huh? How _is_ your other half by the way?"

"He's fine no thanks to you." Feliciano snapped. Alfred looked at him warily, mentally pleading for him to calm down.

The other eyebrow followed its twin. "Now, now, don't go and blame me. Siphone and I tried finding him, but Drovich had masked himself from us. The idiot. If we had found him, he'd probably still be alive. Boss, on the other hand, was pretty fed up when he had to look himself, so…" He didn't feel the need to finish.

Feliciano huffed. "Fine. Whatever."

Lucaster rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't have all day, so are you coming or not?" He finally addressed Alfred again.

Alfred nodded solemnly. "Yeah. I'm coming."

"And him?"

"He's not. He just came to get me here quicker. He's not part of this."

Lucaster looked unconvinced. "So, let me get this straight." He looked back and forth from Feliciano to Alfred. "You," he pointed at Italy, "are okay with him," and to Alfred, "coming to join us?"

Feliciano frowned deeply. "I never said I was okay with it…but I can't exactly stop him, now can I?" He dug his nails into his palms, causing his voice his crack.

"Feliciano?" Alfred's voice was pained. "Look, this is…"

"I know what it is!" He screamed, tears burning his eyes. "I know you, Alfred. I know what you want, and I know I can't stop you from getting it. So just leave already, will you?"

"But…"

"Leave!" He screamed. "Before I attack you now!" He pulled in deep breaths, angry and red-faced. "And remember," he muttered, "next time we met, it'll be on a battlefield." He turned and stomped off, leaving the two men behind him, passing off his suppressed chuckles as muffled sobs. _Oh _Dio_, the look on Lucaster's face! He totally bought that._

Lucaster turned back to Alfred, grimacing. "Lovers?"

Alfred glared at him. "Not anymore." _Oh my God! That was awesome, Feli._

"Right. Well, he must really love you if he was willing to bring out here knowing you were betraying him."

"Yeah…" He murmured.

"Let me ask you a question, kid. Why would you actually betray your comrades if you had a relationship like that?" He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Alfred smiled ruefully. "Because I want this more." He held out his hand to Lucaster. "Let's go. He's still liable to call reinforcements if we hang around too long. I doubt he'll hesitate to really come back for a fight if we don't leave soon."

Lucaster, baffled but in agreement, took the man's offered hand. "Hold on tight. Teleportation this distance," he glanced up at the airship, "is a bit rough."

* * *

Alfred coughed, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. _Damn, he wasn't kidding. _Getting teleported onto the airship had felt like getting punched in the gut. He shook it off and pushed himself back up to full height, taking a look around. On either side of him was a long corridor, lined with wall-high windows that overlooked the ruined city. Lucaster patted him on the shoulder.

"Told you." He pulled a pocket watch out and glanced at it. "Follow me. The boss wants to see you."

Boss. Arthur. Alfred slowly inhaled and exhaled. _What's happened to you, Arthur?_ He took off at a quick pace behind Lucaster, trailing him down several similar looking hallways. Eventually, they came to a plain-looking wooden door, and Lucaster knocked softly.

The door opened, revealing no one behind it. _Huh?_ A soft "Come in" alerted him to the presence of a person by another large window one side of the room. The room was completely dark save for the moonlight shining in through the window. Lucaster motioned for him to enter, and he slowly took a few steps past the threshold, gulping as Lucaster closed the door behind him, plunging him into darkness.

As Alfred cautiously moved closer to the figure by the window, it became immediately clear who it was. "Arthur…"

"Hmm?" The man didn't turn around. He wore only a rumpled, button-up white shirt, which was completely undone, and a pair of loose green pants. At least, Alfred thought they were green. It was hard to tell in the darkness.

"Um…are you okay?" It was such a silly question to ask. Arthur was obviously _not_ okay. He'd attacked the world. There was clearly something very, very wrong with him. Just having his fears confirmed smashed Alfred's hope. He'd been desperately clinging to the last shred of denial that Arthur was involved, and now he'd lost his hold on it. He had his proof.

"I'm fine." Arthur sighed. "It's a nice night out. I'm a little tired, but I wanted to wait for you to get here before I slept. I didn't want to leave you in the dark all night."

_That is ironic in more ways than I can count._ Alfred felt his eye twitch.

"How about you, Alfred? How are things down below? Everyone alright?"

He frowned. "What the hell kind of question is that? Germany and Finland are _dead_. Everyone is suffering because you're bombing their cities. No, they are _not _alright."

He sighed. "I see. I figured you'd say that. I regret causing death, you know? I hate watching a fellow nation die."

"You say that like you've killed other nations before."

Arthur finally turned toward him, eying him with a look that read "Isn't that a given?"

Alfred's stomach twisted. _What the hell has happened to you, Arthur?_

"Nothing I didn't want to happen."

Alfred froze. Had Arthur just…?

"Yes, Alfred, I can read your mind."

"You're really that powerful then?"

He nodded. "Yes. My magic has grown quite extensively for the past few years."

Alfred felt his heart cracking. "I see. So, you've been planning this for a while then?"

"A very, very long time. I'm glad it's going so well. Aren't you? You wanted to join me, right?" He finally turned to face Alfred, revealing a pale chest in the moonlight. "That's why you're here, I assume."

"Yeah." Alfred wanted to punch him in the face.

Arthur chuckled. "I was just joking. You don't need to lie to me Alfred. I know why you really came here. You want me to lose, right? You want to sabotage me?"

Alfred's knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists tightly, shaking with anger. He tried to keep his voice calm. "If you knew that, then why did you let me come here?"

"Because I want to convince you to join me for real. Just stay here for a little while Alfred. Let me show why this is right. Let me show you why I have to do this. If, at the end, you still remain unconvinced, I'll let you go, no questions asked."

Right. Arthur thought this was the right thing to do? Alfred _had_ to figure out what had happened to Arthur to make him do this. "Fine. I'll stay."

Arthur smiled, warm and relieved and tired, and Alfred did a double take. "Thank you, Alfred. I'm glad you're giving me a chance." Then he was in front of Alfred. Alfred stiffened as Arthur's hand cupped his cheek. "So handsome."

"Uh…Arthur…?"

"Hmm?" The hand caressed him softly.

"What're you doing?"

Arthur smiled, leaning up until his lips brushed Alfred's ear. Alfred shuddered as the man spoke. "Do you remember that night in Paris, May 1967?"

Alfred blushed. Oh yes, he remember that night _very_ well. "Um, what about it?"

Arthur caught the back of his head and smashed their lips together. Gasping, Alfred frantically tried to pull away as Arthur's tongue snaked its way into his mouth. But he couldn't. Because Arthur was strong. Stronger than _him._ _What the fuck? How can Arthur be…?_ His eyes met bright green irises, half-lidded, as Arthur pulled away with a wet smack.

"That night…let's do it again."

Alfred stuttered. "W…what? N…no! Arthur, we broke this off years ago, remember?"

He shook his head. "No. I still love you. So much, Alfred." He nuzzled Alfred's neck. Then they were on the bed, Arthur straddling him. Alfred's head whirred from the rapid teleportation. Arthur leaned down and kissed him again, slow and passionate. He turned his head away from the advancing lips.

"Arthur, stop!"

"Alfred, look at me."

He made the mistake of doing so. He was immediately caught by the man's green gaze. Literally. He could no longer look away. There was something in his eyes. Something deep. Something powerful. Something _infinite._

"Alfred." He whispered. "Make love to me."

"Yes." Alfred grabbed the other man and pulled him into a heated kiss, quickly undoing the buttons on his coat and shirt. He tossed the two pieces off to the side, not caring where they went. "Arthur." He murmured, trailing wet kisses down the man's neck. Their hips pressed together, and Alfred groaned at the heat pooling in his groin. "Arthur." He breathed the moan into Arthur's ear, and Arthur sighed. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. The thought of the man consumed him. He pressed himself harder against the man, groaning loudly at the pressure and the pleasure. "Oh, Arthur." He grabbed the front of his pants, desperately trying to undo the button on his jeans.

"Stop!"

He immediately froze, his hand on his zipper. "What's wrong, Arthur?" Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. _I want you, Arthur._

"No, you don't."

_I love you, Arthur._

"No, you don't."

Arthur looked horrified, like he'd just woken up not _from_ a nightmare but _to_ one.

"Please, Arthur, I want to make love to you."

Arthur grimaced. "No, you don't." He leaned close to Alfred's face, and Alfred immediately felt relieved, arching up to meet Arthur's lips. The kiss was brief and stiff, all the passion drained from his lips. Arthur stared directly into his eyes, green irises now filled with regret. He sighed. "Alfred."

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Get that silly idea of out of your head. Return to your normal self already."

"Huh?" Alfred cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean, Arthur, I…" He felt sucked into Arthur's gaze again. And then…something…snapped?

Suddenly, it was like he'd been dunked in a bucket of ice. "Holy…!" He'd just been….why had he just…had he just been _begging_ Arthur for sex? Had he actually _responded to_ Arthur's advances?_ What the fuck is wrong with me?_

"I apologize." Arthur's weight suddenly vanished, leaving him alone on the bed, Alfred—completely mortified—tried to ignore his obvious erection. Eventually, he calmed down enough to sit up, finding Arthur standing back at the window, rubbing his temples.

"What the hell was that about?" He exclaimed, cheeks burning.

"I apologize." He said again. "I…I'm going to sleep somewhere else. Stay here, and get some rest." Then he was at the door, out the door, and gone.

Alfred still sat on the bed, half-naked and completely and utterly confused beyond all reason.

* * *

**Dro:** Oh dear...is there any power alter! England doesn't have? Stay tuned to find out.

**Next Chapter:** Arthur and Alfred _finally_ meet up, and Alfred gets the shock of his life, more than once, as several incredibly freaky things unfold in front of him. One of which may possibly scar both he and Arthur for life.


	25. Pulling a Rabbit out of a Hat

**Dro:** Wow, I'm really churning these out too fast, but I can't help it. I have too much time this week. Ah! Maybe I'll push up posting **The Road Not Taken**. We'll see. Anyway, the mindfuckery really picks up here, so stay tuned. **And review.**

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred finally gets the "big reveal." It ends in a very unexpected way.

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Oh no, not owned by Dro. Sad, no?

* * *

Arthur awoke to a familiar presence pressed against his back. Groaning, he pushed the man's arm off of him and rolled over, coming face to face with a sleepy-looking double. The man smiled at him.

"You know, I could've sworn I told you you weren't welcome in my bed."

"My apologies." The man yawned. "Though you don't seem to have any particular objections, as you're still in bed with me."

"I'm still tired. So get up, and get out. You're irritating."

A blond eyebrow went up. "You seemed pretty comfortable when I slipped into bed earlier. You cuddled up to me in everything."

Arthur tried to suppress a blush. "I was asleep! And it's natural to move toward a heat source. So sod off, and get out of my bed. I don't even understand why you're here…" he trailed off as his double started frowning.

"There was…an incident, I'm afraid. Nothing serious, but I didn't want to risk traumatizing the boy further, so I decided it would be best if I came here instead."

"Traumatizing what boy?" He scrunched his eyebrows, then realized. "Alfred?" He sat up, gripping the man's neck tightly. His double looked shocked. "What the hell did you do to Alfred?"

"Nothing painful. I just got up caught in one of your memories and tried to sleep with him."

"What? What memory?"

He snorted. "Paris. May. 1967. Ring a bell?"

Arthur couldn't even hope to stop the furious blush. "Oh. That."

"Yeah. Great memory." His double smiled dreamily.

"Hey, that's my memory, you dick! Stop focusing on it. It wasn't your sex!"

He chuckled. "And yet, I remember it."

"Shut up? I can't believe you're not even trying to defend yourself. Do you not feel any remorse for almost forcing Alfred into sex?"

The smile immediately vanished. "Of course I do. But I didn't actually do it. I came back to myself before we got that far. Though I will admit it was a close call. I need to watch it. Your memories are powerful."

"So are yours." Arthur mumbled.

"Oh. What's happened to you?"

"Oh, let me see. I've only had about six instances where I started wanting to desperately kill my friend Francis because I thought he was Gaul."

"Ah, yes. Your France." The man frowned. "Obviously a parallel to my Gaul. I honestly don't see where the problem lies in wanting to kill him."

"He's my friend, not my enemy! He's not you! Sure, he's a pretentious, pompous, perverted dick, but he's still my friend." Arthur huffed, swearing to God he would never let Francis hear that.

He noticed his double was pouting. "You consider me an enemy?"

"What kind of question is that? You _are_ the enemy! I'm a prisoner."

"Awfully good treatment for a prisoner." His double rolled his eyes.

"What? So I can leave?"

"If you want. But you don't want to, so you won't."

Arthur couldn't believe his ears. "You're lying. You must be. If you were actually giving me the option to leave, I'd do it right now."

"Would you?" The same eyebrow went up again, and the man leaned up toward him. "Because I don't think you would. I think you would stay here." A hand snaked up Arthur's arm until it reached his cheek, caressing. "I think you want to be with me."

Arthur stuttered, his face burning. "I want…n-no such thing!"

His double leaned closer, their lips just barely brushing. "Are you sure about that? Really sure?"

Arthur's entire body shuddered at the brief touch. He did not want this! He did not! So why….why did he kiss his double? Why? Why did he close the nearly nonexistent gap between them and press his lips hard against his double's? Why did he part his lips and groan softly into a deep, open-mouthed kiss? Why did he press his tongue against his double's matching one? Why did he grab the man's hair, tugging them closer together? Why did he _like_ this? What was _wrong_ with him? He should feel repulsed by this! But he didn't. Every time they touched like this, he felt a sense of pleasure and excitement and _completeness_ that he'd never felt before in his life. And _God_, he was sure he was becoming addicted to it.

When they finally parted, they were both panting and flushed. His double righted himself. "So, are you staying?"

"I…yes." _For Alfred! I'm staying because I need to keep an eye on Alfred! That's it!_

His double rolled his eyes again. "Keep deluding yourself, Arthur. That's definitely the answer."

"Fuck off, and get out. I still don't want you in my bed. And I better damn well get to see Alfred later. Let me guess, you didn't bother telling him there were two of us! He probably thinks _I_ did that to him."

His double pursed his lips. "Look, I'm really sorry about that. Really. We'll clear this up later. I promise. In fact, come to my office after breakfast, and we'll explain everything to him, alright?"

He scoffed. "Fine. But no more tricks, got it?"

The man held up his arms in a surrendering motion. "Got it."

"Now get out of my bed!"

Chuckling, the man teleported to the door. His clothing was disheveled, but thankfully, still _on._ "See you later, Arthur." He waved playfully and shut the door behind him.

Arthur was left alone, and he let out a breath. God, this was becoming complicated. He had a shit-ton of feelings he didn't want, need, or know how to deal with. And those were just emotions. He didn't even want to get started on the memories that were slowly leaching further and further into his brain, infecting his own. And now he had Alfred to deal with. He pinched the bridge of his nose. How the hell was he going to sort out this mess?

* * *

Alfred blinked back into consciousness. Groggy, he looked around the unfamiliar room. He was laying on a king-sized bed with soft, silky sheets. Where was he again? He tried to think back to the night before, the memories of the previous night slamming into him. _Jesus! Arthur…_How the hell could Arthur have done that to him? He sat up and looked over himself. He was still shirtless, his pants still undone. He'd been so shocked at Arthur's actions that's he hadn't even moved. He'd just laid there staring at the ceiling, completely stunned. What the hell had happened? One second, Arthur had been assaulting him, then the next, he'd been so into it! He'd wanted Arthur so badly. He remembered that feeling of complete and utter _desire_, but where had it come from? And then…then Arthur had told him to stop and get that foolish thought out of his head?

The realization hit him harder than the memories. Arthur had…what? _Compelled_ him? It was liked he'd been sucked into that infinite void in the man's green eyes, and then, he'd _wanted_ it. _Good God, what kind of power does he have? Can he make me do anything?_ His stomach twisted tightly. _What have I gotten myself into? If he can _make_ me do whatever he wants, then I'm screwed. Shit! Shit! I screwed up big time!_

"I won't compel you to obey me."

He jumped up, fists raised. Arthur stood in the doorway, wearing the same clothing from the night before. He wore a thin, regretful frown. "I'm sorry about last night, Alfred. I was lost in a memory, and I couldn't control myself. You have no reason to forgive me, I know, but at least know that I deeply regret it. Did I hurt you?"

Okay, now he was really confused. Why was Arthur apologizing? What did he mean by "lost in a memory?" What the hell did that mean? He stiffened as the man appeared on the bed beside him, leaning back casually. "Why should I trust you after what you've done? Give me one good reason." He sneered. Oh, how he wanted to hit Arthur so badly.

"You can try to hit me, Alfred. But you won't make contact. I'm faster and stronger than you. So please, keep your cool. I have no intention of harming you. I swear. In a couple hours, everything will make sense to you. Until then, just calm yourself down."

"What is there to make sense of?"

"Much."

"Like what?"

"…It would be best if I waited to tell you. If I try to explain without proof, you won't believe me. So just let the subject rest until after breakfast, alright?"

Alfred, tight-jawed, nodded.

"Now, I hope you don't mind if I get dressed. This is kind of my room. If you want, I can call Lucaster and have him escort your to yours. I prepared one for you."

"No, that's fine. I'll stay here." He scrutinized Arthur with narrow eyes, unwilling to let the man out of his sight.

Arthur chuckled. "Well, I suppose if you _want_ to see me naked…"

"Call Lucaster."

Arthur barked out a laugh and mentally called the other man. "He'll be here in a moment."

Alfred looked perplexed, but then he remembered that Arthur had telepathy. "Useful."

"What? Telepathy? Yes, it's one of my favorite skills."

"I bet." Alfred muttered.

"By the way, are you going to put your clothing back on? I mean, I don't mind the view, but I can't imagine you want to walk down the hallway like _that_."

Alfred found himself blushing. "Um, yeah. " He quickly shuffled across the room and picked up his shirt, slipping it back over his torso.

"You're gorgeous. You know that?"

Alfred froze. "Don't talk about me like that. You've lost that privilege."

He sighed. "I really am sorry about last night."

Alfred whipped around. "What? I'm not talking about _last_ _night_, Arthur. I'm talking about attacking the fucking world!"

"Ah, that. Yes. I suppose that's a legitimate reason to be angry at me." He let his shirt slide down his arms and fall carelessly to the floor, revealing a well-toned chest. He noticed a light blush crossing Alfred's cheeks. "Like what you see, Alfred?"

"Fuck off. We were lovers for years. You know what I think about you."

"Yes. I do." He said wistfully, appearing in front of Alfred. He cupped the man's cheek and leaned in quickly, pecking him on the cheek. "And you know what I think of you."

"Back off."

Shrugging, he backed away. Lucaster then knocked on the door, and Alfred looked relieved as he buttoned up his shirt. Arthur motioned for him to go, and he headed for the door without even looking back. He slammed the door behind him, startling Lucaster, who looked immensely confused.

"Don't ask. Just don't."

He said nothing and rolled his eyes. "Come along, then."

Alfred followed Lucaster through the hallways, trying to memorize the layout of the airship. He couldn't help but notice the extreme lack of people. "Hey, there are other people on this ship, right?"

"Of course. We have an army of humans with us, but they're not generally allowed on this level."

"Not allowed? What, you think you're better than them?"

Lucaster snorted. "We are nation. They are human. We _are_ better than them."

"Says you. Personally, I see you as much lower than the average human."

"Watch your tongue, boy. The boss may be understanding, but he will not hesitate to take your pride down a notch. Don't forget what happened to Drovich. The boss has informed me of your little infiltration plot, and personally, I'm not sure why he's being quite this forgiving. However, I would like to warn you that whenever he apparently lets something out of his favor happen, it's generally because he has a plan to _make_ it in his favor. You would do well to remember that."

Alfred suddenly felt very insecure. Lucaster stopped in front of another plain door and pushed it open. "Here's where you'll be staying. Luxury accommodations. Enjoy them." He walked away, waving, but then he paused. "By the way, I'm guessing your lover's little show was fake, right?"

Alfred stiffened. "What of it?"

"Tell me, do they all know your plan? Or was it just him you told in the name of 'making it look realistic?'"

"I…" Alfred couldn't get the words out. Now that he knew that they _knew_ he was using "joining them" as a ploy to get information, he suddenly regretted not telling anyone. Now they would all pointlessly think he was traitor. His heart felt heavy.

Lucaster took the sorrowful expression on his face as an answer. "That's probably for the best though, since you'll end up joining us in the end anyway."

"Says who?"

"The boss. And the boss is never wrong. Remember that too."

With chills running down his back, Alfred knew that he would never forget it.

* * *

When Lucaster came and knocked on his door later, Alfred was drying his hair off. For the headquarters of the evil bastards that were destroying the world, they had pretty nice amenities. He'd enjoyed a nice, long, refreshing shower that had considerably relaxed him. Then, a maid of some sort had come buy and given him food. She was the first human Alfred had seen on the ship, but she had refused to answer any of his questions. Sighing, he'd given up and let her go, watching as she disappeared down the hallway.

Alfred buttoned up his new white shirt and stuffed his feet into the pair of boots that had been left in front of his closet, then he opened the door. Lucaster stood on the side, bored expression on his face. He quirked an eyebrow at Alfred's ensemble. "No coat?"

"Nah. I haven't joined you, remember?"

"Yet." Lucaster assured him. "Whatever. Follow me."

They took a different direction this time, heading down the ever familiar outer hallways lined with the wall-sized windows. They cut through a side hallway and took a right, coming to another wooden door. Lucaster paused just before knocking and gave him a hard look. "Try not to be too confused. Even Siphone and I were shocked at first. We never expected to find one of the boss."

"One of what?"

"You'll see. Just keep in mind that this is not a trick. Wouldn't want you acting like a complete idiot."

"Hey."

He rolled his eyes and knocked, the familiar voice of Arthur on the other side telling him to enter. The man pulled the door open and ushered him in, closing it swiftly behind him as Alfred shuffled into the office. Arthur sat at a desk in front of one of the large windows, tapping his fingers on the wood and smiling. "Morning again, Alfred." He said.

"Morning." He mumbled. "So what's this big explanation I'm supposed to be getting?" He marched forward and stood in front of Arthur, arms crossed.

Arthur chuckled. "Wow, you _are_ oblivious. The explanation is right behind you."

"Huh?" He hesitantly turned around.

And met the green eyes of _another_ Arthur. He stumbled back, rapidly darting his eyes back and forth from one Arthur to the other. "W-w-what? What the hell is this? What kind of trick is this supposed to be? What the fuck are you playing at?"

"Alfred, shut up." The second Arthur groaned.

Alfred froze. Now that he thought about it, there were differences between the too. He looked at the first Arthur, who was smiling mischievously up at him from his seat. This Arthur had a small scar just above one eyebrow. And his voice. It was the same voice, but the accent was off. He'd noticed it before, but he hadn't thought anything of it. He looked at the Arthur leaning against the wall. The two were dressed almost identically, but there was something in the way that _that_ Arthur was looking at him.

"Arthur. My Arthur."

"Yes, _your_ Arthur, if that's how you want to put it, git." The man against the wall grumbled.

Alfred felt like his brain had just exploded. "Holy shit!" He whipped around the face the imposter. "Who the hell _are_ you?"

The man started laughing hysterically. When he finally calmed down, he smirked and answered. "Arthur Kirkland, United Empire of Great Britannia. And _that_," he pointed to the _real_ Arthur, "is Arthur Kirkland, the United Kingdom, or Great Britain, if you want. He's the Arthur from this world. I am not."

"From this world. You're…you're from the…parallel world? You're an alternate Arthur?" The term sounded incredibly absurd rolling off his tongue in such a serious situation, but he certainly couldn't deny what was right in front of him.

"That's right."

A intense feeling of both relief and guilt welled up inside him. He'd honestly thought that _Arthur _had…He turned back around, facing the man he'd loved for just about his entire life in a thousand different ways. "Arthur…I…"

"Don't apologize, you wanker. I'm not nearly temperamental enough to be mad at you for assuming something that sounded completely logical. Had I been in this situation, I would've thought the same."

Was Arthur being…reasonable? What had happened to him since he'd gotten here? On that note, why was he dressed just like his other self? And not complaining about it? "Are…are you alright?"

"Physically? I'm fine."

"Mentally?" He clenched his hands into tight fists, sending a glare at the other Arthur, knowing the man had done _something_ to Arthur.

"Well enough for the moment."

"I see. So, he hasn't been hurting you?"

"Oh, he's been hurting me alright. Trying to train me in his insane magic. Nearly killed me several times so far. Bastard just heals me afterward."

"Training you…? Why would he…?" Okay, now he was seriously confused. Why would the evil Arthur train the good one?

"Ask him. He insists upon it. And I'm not exactly in a situation to refuse seeing as I'm a prisoner."

Alfred looked at the other Arthur, suspicious. The man shrugged. "For the same reason I'll be training you in magic, Alfred. I want you to join me."

"Alfred has no magic." Arthur retorted, a hint of fear in his eyes. Fear that hinted he knew exactly what the other Arthur was planning.

The man smiled. "Ah, but he will shortly." The evil Arthur pulled out a small platinum ring with a purple gem in the middle. "Here you go." He offered it to Alfred. "Obviously Drovich doesn't require it anymore."

Alfred hesitated, not sure which "it" he was referring to.

"Don't." Arthur said, warning in his voice. "I don't trust him."

"What is it you think I'll be doing to him, Arthur? Lucaster and Siphone are perfectly fine with my magic." He rolled the ring around in his fingers. "I fashioned this medium just the other day. I figured it would suit you better than a bracelet or necklace." He said to Alfred.

Arthur clenched his fists. "Don't think you can fool me. I can slowly see your manipulation plot coming together, and I know it involves this. Don't think I'm blind enough to miss the implications of giving Alfred some of _your_ magic."

The other Arthur smiled, eying Alfred, who was seriously contemplating what to do. After a few more seconds of hesitation, Alfred snatched the ring from him and slipped it on his ring finger before Arthur could react.

"Alfred!"

Tentatively, he pulled the ring back off, giving Arthur a relieved look. He'd been halfway convinced the thing would be stuck on his finger, and he'd end up a mental slave to this evil Arthur or something. But he wasn't in a position to refuse this at the moment. He had to play by this other Arthur's rules if he was going to get anywhere. So he'd risked it. He let out a relieved sigh the same time Arthur did. But Arthur kept scowling, and the evil twin kept smiling.

"See? Told you."

"I still don't' trust you."

The man shrugged. "Well, now that we've cleared up all these mysteries, how about some training boys? Alfred here needs to get acquainted with magic." He stood up clapped happily. "This is going to be an exciting day, huh?"

Alfred and Arthur exchanged a glance. "Sure?" Alfred lied. He moved closer to Arthur, brushing their hands together. Arthur glanced at him, seeing Alfred worriedly looking back down at him, sincerely wondering if he was actually okay or whether this was all a lie. Arthur briefly squeezed his hand, giving him a reassuring smile. It was then they both noticed the other Arthur giving them a sour look.

"What?" Arthur snapped.

The other one shook his head. "It appears I forgot to make one thing clear."

The next thing Alfred knew, Arthur was no longer next to him. He blinked, startled to see both Arthurs on the other side of the desk. Startled at the teleportation. But not startled at what they were doing. Oh no. Startled didn't even come close. Shocked didn't even scratch the surface. Stunned? No. Not strong enough. Shaken to the core?

There was no term in existence to describe the level of sheer alarm that shot through his body when he watched Arthur's double pull the original into a heated kiss. And that alarm tripled, quadrupled, more as he saw Arthur return the kiss with fervor. His hands locked around his double's head, pinning their lips and tongues together while the other Arthur wrapped his hands around the original's waist and crushed their bodies together.

It was the double that finally pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva between the two pairs of swollen lips that rested on two identical flushed faces. Their same green eyes held the same emotion, something so deep that Alfred didn't thing he could even begin to understand it. He stood in his place completely stunned to the point of immobility. The pair of Arthurs looked ready to go at it again, but then the other one whispered something that, for some reason, terrified Alfred.

He spoke only to Arthur, as if they were only two people in the room. "Did you know, Arthur, that we have the same heartbeat?"

Arthur's eyes widened. He timidly slid a hand from his double's shoulder to his chest and let it rest over his heart. His double mimicked the action, and both let out a shaky breath. Arthur whispered in a soft response. "You're right."

It was then that Alfred finally cracked through his numb shell and lost it. "What the fuck is going on here?"

Arthur seemed to suddenly snap out of his daze, and he stumbled away from his double. "Alfred, I…" He blushed deeply, having absolutely no clue how to explain this to Alfred.

A low chuckle escaped from his double's mouth, and both pairs of eyes were suddenly on him. The double looked from Arthur, winking, and settled on Alfred. In the blink of eye, his expression went from friendly and playful to the most dangerous and vicious look Arthur had ever seen. Green eyes, narrow and glinting menacingly, were complimented by a sharp, crooked, ferocious sneer.

"Easy." He answered to Alfred's questions. "He's mine." And then he was in front of Alfred, terrifying face inches away from Alfred's. "So stay away."

Then he was at the door, smiling and chuckling again. "Now, off to training!" He opened the door and walked out, motioning for them follow.

Alfred and Arthur stood there, completely motionless. Surprisingly, Arthur was the first to regain his voice, and Alfred knew the moment he finished speaking that they _both_ had a big problem on their hands.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

* * *

**Dro:** That was a long chapter. Huh. Anyway, enjoy? Yes? Ready to watch the mindfuckery begin?

**Next Chapter:** The nations reel from Alfred's disappearance. Feliciano shows off his acting skills. Alter! Arthur makes a request of Alfred.


	26. It's Just Not My Cup of Tea

**Dro:** A shorter chapter today, but ultimately incredibly important, especially considering the next two chapters. Anyway, you know the drill. **Read and Review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Alter! Arthur gives Alfred a hefty request. Meanwhile, the nations try to figure out where Alfred disappeared to.

**Warnings:** None?

**Disclaimer:** Oh no no, not owned by Dro. It's so sad, yo.

* * *

Alfred groaned at the ache in his bones. Magic felt weird! He was completely exhausted now. He'd had that electricity thrumming through his veins for hours, accompanied by the brutal beating Arthur's other self had given him. How many bones had been broken and healed? How many stab wounds? How many death-defying impacts? He'd lost count several hours ago. Now, he was stumbling along behind Arthur as he followed the man back to his room. Or at least, he thought it was Arthur. He was always afraid of mixing the two up, and he needed to get a look at their faces to tell them apart if they weren't talking. There were very few indicators about which was which.

"Here." Arthur opened a door and slipped inside a room, Alfred trailing behind him. He closed the door and turned to see Arthur stripping off his coat and shoes, sighing.

"Are you alright? He was pretty rough with you."

"I'm fine." With the adrenaline of battle finally siphoning out of his system, Alfred could finally focus on the multitude of questions he had for Arthur. "So, you want to tell me what the hell happened in the office earlier?" His voice held a sharp edge, and he grimaced as he saw Arthur flinch at it.

"Not really, but I suppose you're going to bug me about it until I do, right?"

"Arthur, you _made out_ with your alternate self. Willingly. That's freaky enough by itself. But…what was with his possessiveness?" He paused as he noticed Arthur absently rubbing at a spot on his back. "Are you okay?"

"Hm?" Arthur blinked, seeming to have been lost. He stopped rubbing at the spot and sighed. "There I go again."

"What?"

He shook his head. "It's…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. "It's complicated, Alfred."

"Just tell me, Arthur."

He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I…I have his memories."

"What?"

"Alfred, didn't you wonder how he knew about…" he coughed, "Paris?"

Blushing, Alfred struggled to find a response. Wait, how _had_ the other Arthur known about that? He hadn't given it much though, still stunned by the scarring mental image of Arthur compelling him like that. "So…he…he what?"

"We exchanged memories. I have a copy of his. He has a copy of mine."

"But, why?" Why would Arthur…?

"You make it sound like I had a choice. I didn't. He forced me to accept them."

"Like…compelled you?"

"I'm guessing that's what he to you last night?"

Alfred blushed. "Yeah…"

"Are you alright? He told me he didn't hurt you, but I'm not sure I believe him."

"He didn't _hurt_ me, but it sure freaked me out afterward."

Arthur sat down on his bed, looking defeated. "He's too powerful. You shouldn't have come here, Alfred. He's going to manipulate you somehow. I just know it. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Alfred sank onto the bed next to him. "And I don't want to see you get hurt either, Arthur. I care about you, you know? I came up here to save you and take this bastard down."

"Good luck with that. He already has enough magic to be considered a demi-god. He's unstoppable Alfred. And I'm becoming more useless by the day."

"What? But you're magic has gotten a lot stronger."

Arthur laughed, dry and hopeless. "I'm not talking about my magic, Alfred. In that way, I've gotten much stronger. I'm talking about my feelings."

"Feelings for what?" Alfred realized. "Him? You…have feelings for him?"

"No, Alfred. I made out with him just to fuck with you."

"But, how can you possibly…?"

"That, unfortunately, is also not something that's happened willingly."

"Huh?"

Arthur let out a shudder of a breath. "Ever since he gave me his memories, my mind has been rapidly rearranging itself. His memories are slowly bleeding into my own, blurring the line between who is me and who is him. And it's scaring the hell out of me. But at the same time, I'm starting to develop feelings for him. Every day I feel closer and closer to him. It's like the more our minds starts to match up in terms of memory, the more attracted we are to one another. And I can't stop it, Alfred. It's completely out of my control."

"But, why would he do that to you?"

Arthur shook his head. "If only I knew. It has something to do with his plan, but that's the only memory he didn't give me. It's the only answer I don't have. And it scares me. I'm afraid I'll wake up one day and be completely convinced I'm him, or worse, find myself completely and utterly devoted to him, having lost any sense that's he's an enemy and I should hate him. Alfred, I…"

Alfred hugged him and held him tightly. In the beginning of all this, he'd been so afraid he'd find Arthur strung up in a cell somewhere, tortured and beaten to near death. But this…this mental manipulation that was slowly eating away at Arthur's mind. This…this was worse.

* * *

Feliciano never opened his mouth. He kept his lips zipped tightly, refusing to reveal a single detail about Alfred's disappearance. He'd been questioned by a thousand officials, his friends, and every one else in between, but all he'd done is shaken his head, silently claiming he didn't know. When Gilbert had first come to "inform" him that Alfred had disappeared, he'd put on the best act possible, had panicked and broken down and cried and sobbed and denied. But now he'd become "withdrawn," quietly whispering to himself that he'd need to keep this act up no matter what.

The other nations were on heightened alert, terrified that something dreadful had befallen their strongest ally and closest friend. Lovino had come in and sat down with him for hours, repeatedly whispering it would be okay and that they would find him. Both brothers had done a scan for any magic in the area, trying to find a foreign one, but the only two present belonged to the brothers themselves. They had no leads, no idea at all what might've happened to Alfred, and for the sake of the world, that may have been a good thing.

Feliciano wondered what Alfred was doing now. Had he confronted Arthur yet, figured out why the man was doing what he was? Had his plan failed? Was he already dead? Was it going perfectly? Was he emotionally stressed trying to keep up his ruse? He sighed. He knew he would worry all the way down this list of questions every single day until he saw Alfred again. Even though he knew exactly what the man was up to, he was still panicking inside like everyone else. How could he not? His lover was in the enemy's domain, executing a plan that could very get him killed.

"Feliciano."

He jumped at the sudden voice and turned to see Gilbert standing in the doorway. The man looked grim. Feliciano's heart skipped a beat. Had something gone wrong with Alfred's plan and they'd found…? "Hm?" He answered simply, trying to keep up his emotionally fatigued aloofness.

"I…uh…I have some bad news."

He could hear his heart thumping in his ears. "What is it?" He whispered. _Please be alive. Please._

"Well, Lovi went out with a scouting group earlier to look for Alfred. And…"

_No. No. No. _"And what, Gilbert?"

"And they went to Barcelona."

Feliciano barely caught the gasp. _Shit. My magic signature. It's probably still there! _"And…?"

"And Lovi found traces of Lucaster's magic that seemed to correspond with the time Alfred disappeared."

He contained a massive sigh of relief, but the thought was still nagging at him. If Lovino had sensed Lucaster, there was no way possible his _fratello_ hadn't sensed him as well. "Ah…I see…so…"

"So, it's very possible Alfred was kidnapped."

Kidnapped? Was that really their current theory? Feliciano couldn't help but wonder how many people actually bought that. Your strongest ally ends up vanishing in the night without a trace, only for you to find a trace of the enemy's magic at the same time in what would make a likely rendezvous point? _Yeah, right_. It was a highly suspicious situation. It was supposed to be. _They're just in denial right now. Soon enough, they'll figure it out. As long as they don't figure out my role in it, we're good._

"I see."

"Feli…I, Oh _Gott._ I'm so sorry."

He turned his head away from Gilbert, feigning his pain as well as he could. It wasn't all lies. He was terrified for Alfred's safety. Gilbert's hand landed on his shoulder. "Damn, Feli. I swear to God we're going to take these bastards down."

Feliciano slowly nodded, burying his head in his arms, hiding his face on the off chance that any single feature gave his lie away. Gilbert gently rubbed his back. "If they really have him, Feli, I swear we'll get him back. No matter what. I'll bring him back to you myself."

He sniffled. "I know." His voice was clouded with fake emotions. He _loathed_ lying to them like this, but he had no other choice.

Eventually, Gilbert left the room, simultaneously leaving Feliciano to wonder a thousand things a thousand times, one of the most prominent thoughts being "Is this the right thing?" He feared he'd never get an answer to that one.

* * *

Alfred wandered into the room slowly, admiring the architecture of the airship. For the base of the "evil nemesis" he was supposed to be fighting, it was a pretty grandeur thing. He wasn't sure how it ran or what kind of science was behind sustaining such a large piece of machinery and making it consistently float in the air, but it sure was fascinating. He paused when he got a good look at the room. His eyes rolled around in his head, surveying every inch of it. He didn't think he'd ever seen such an elegant room before.

It was a library. Books lined massive shelves that stretched around the wall, accented with several sliding ladders that could roll across the room. The room was at least twenty feet high, and the shelves touched the ceiling. All of them were filled. Books that looked older than dirt and like they'd been bought yesterday were mixed in together, stretching across what must have been centuries. It was an impressive collection. The rest of the room was arranged like a lounge, work tables and coffee tables and plush sofas and chairs clustered about across the wide open floor. Sitting at one of them was the other Arthur, casually reading a book.

"Ahem." Alfred coughed. The man had called him here, and now he was going to ignore him? Green eyes flicked up to him at the sound of his voice.

"Ah, Alfred. Please sit down. I have something to tell you." He patted the space on the couch cushion next to him. Wary, Alfred slowly advanced, not having forgotten the incident the day prior. He was still afraid the man might rip his head off at a moment's notice. Once he was finally seated, sitting stiff and rigid, ready to run for his life, the other Arthur placed an intricate metal bookmark on the page he was reading and closed the book with a thump, sitting it on the table next to him.

"So, what is it we're discussing?"

The man smiled. "I have a mission for you."

"I thought I made it clear I wasn't actually on your side."

"You did. But weren't you also planning to pretend you were?"

"Uh, that was to fool _you_, which obviously isn't going to work anymore."

The other Arthur chuckled. "True, but I do believe it would be in your advantage to pretend for this particular mission. I mean, if your friends saw you, you said you were still on their side, but you still returned to me, think how confused they'd be! You should go along with 'pretending to work for the bad guys.' A classic plan. And much easier to explain. And eventually unnecessary to explain as you will ultimately join me. Since you'll already be acting the part, it'll be much simpler, for you, for me, and for your friends."

"You seem pretty confident about this."

"Not a doubt in my mind. Now," he snapped his fingers, a map appearing on the table, "about this mission. I want you, Lucaster, and Siphone to destroy that blasted base where all your fellow nations are hiding out. How's that sound for a debut of your new allegiance?"

"Crazy. Which is it what it is. I told you, I'm not going to pretend I've betrayed my friends anymore. It's not going to help anyone."

"Oh, but Alfred, in the end when you finally understand everything, and you've duly decided to join me, it will have been a huge help to you. Trust me."

"No." Alfred barked.

The double sighed. "Alfred. Allow me to inform you of a vital piece of information." A hand shot up and grabbed Alfred's chin, forcing him to look directly into those endless green eyes. "While you're on my ship, Alfred, you'll be playing my game. Clear?"

"What? You—!"

"Alfred. Please trust me. I know what I'm talking about." The man released his chin with a sigh, looking at him sincerely. "I'm working in your best interest here."

Alfred's mouth suddenly went dry. He thought about it for a moment. _Pretending. Maybe it is a good idea. It might be beneficial in the end. That's what I was originally planning to do right? So why change it now? Yeah, I'll just stick to the original plan. _Pretend. Pretend. Pretend."Alright. I'll do it."

* * *

**Dro: **-zips lips and says nothing-

**Next Chapter:** The obvious follow up to the end of this chapter. Let's just say it doesn't go well for anybody.


	27. Wings of Wax I

**Dro: **For those of you who don't follow **A Crack in the Looking Glass** and didn't get the memo, I haven't been posting for a few days because I subbed the Hetalia movie (it's on LJ under nick_rolynd). Took me a while. Anyway, I'm back on track now, so enjoy this chapter! **And don't forget to review, my amazing readers!**

**Chapter Summary: **Lovi confronts Feli about Alfred's disappearance, only to come face to face with said vanished person...and his new "allies."

**Warnings: **Language, Violence

**Disclaimer:** No. Just no. We all know I don't own. So?

* * *

Feliciano sighed as he stopped in front of the door, biting his lip. Everyone was still bugging him about Alfred's disappearance, some merely "consoling him for his loss," others subtly hinting that they thought he knew something he wasn't telling. He had continued to deny that he had any information at all concerning his lover's vanishing, but he could tell some people didn't believe him. It was probably those same people that had already caught on to the fact that it was very unlikely Alfred had been kidnapped. It wasn't logical given the scraps of evidence they had. There were several other possibilities that made much more sense, one of them, of course, being that he'd betrayed them. He wondered how long it would be before that became the consensus. It may have been the plan, but that didn't mean he had to like it. In fact, he dreaded it with more apprehension than anything he'd ever experienced before.

He wasn't sure he could handle watching their faces as they drained of all hope. He wasn't sure he could handle watching them register the betrayal, watching them as they cursed Alfred and began to funnel all their pain into hatred. He wasn't sure he could handle them wanting to _kill_ Alfred, but Alfred had trusted him enough to keep his secret, so he _would_ deal with it and stay strong. His lover was doing what was possibly the most dangerous move in the world, and at any moment, Feliciano was liable to lose his second lover in the span of two months. So he would play his part and keep his cool. And he would keep praying.

He pushed the ajar door open, revealing a room full of whispering nations. They were grouped together, the Asians chatting in several different languages, the Nordics sitting in the corner looking sullen. The other Europeans were the odd men out, split into smaller factions of two or three and whispering amongst themselves. All the conversation died when Feliciano stepped through the threshold, all eyes on him. Gilbert sat in one of the chairs, arms crossed, red eye dangerously narrowed as he glared at Roderich.

"What's going on?" Feliciano asked, though he felt he already knew what their conversation topic had been.

"_Fratello_." Feliciano glanced at Romano, who sat next to Gilbert, eyes continually drifting toward the ceiling as if he kept getting lost in a singular, all encompassing thought.

"Yes?"

"Can I talk to you in private for a minute?"

"Sure?" That feeling of dread settled onto his body like a lead veil, heavy and toxic.

Lovino rose from his seat and headed back out the door, Feliciano following closely behind him, throwing one last suspicious glance at the occupants of the room before he closed the door. His _fratello_ took him outside and led him to the same parking lot where they usually trained. Feliciano grew more anxious with every step. Lovino had never said anything about finding traces of his magic in Barcelona, but it was plenty possible—and highly likely—that he had and had chosen to keep it a secret just in case the others tried to accuse Feliciano of something.

His fears were confirmed when Lovino stopped abruptly and suddenly whipped around, coming face to face to Feliciano, adorned with a harsh, accusatory expression. "What have you done, Feliciano?"

_Shit. I'm caught._ "W—what?"

"Don't play stupid with me, _fratello_. I sensed your magic all the way to Barcelona and back. And I'm not stupid enough to think you were alone. I sensed your absence the night Alfred disappeared, and I went to Alfred to see where you'd gone, only to find him gone too. Do you think I'm a fool? Now tell me, what the hell have you done?"

Feliciano tensed. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ That had been his biggest fear, that Lovino would find out like this. He was the only variable that Feliciano had no control over. His _fratello_ was matched with him in magic. He couldn't hide things from the older Italy. He swallowed thickly. "It's not what you think, Lovino. I swear."

"Do you even know what I think, Feliciano?" He opened his mouth to answer, but Lovino cut him off. "Honestly, I don't what to think. But I'm pretty damn sure that Alfred is with them now, willingly or not. However, since I'm pretty sure you wouldn't just hand your lover over to them as a prize, I have a feeling it was willingly. So tell me, what the hell are you two planning? And why didn't you bother to inform the rest of us? Huh? Answer me!"

"_Fratello._ It's not like that. Alfred. He had an opportunity to sabotage them, so he took it. I know it was stupid not to tell anyone, but we were both afraid that if we told you all Alfred's plan, it would ruin the ruse and he would get hurt." He didn't want to be telling his brother this. He felt like he was exposing all of Alfred's hard work, felt like any second, he would somehow bear witness to Alfred's death as Feliciano's break of confidence inadvertently caused his plan to be revealed to the enemy.

"Ruse? What ruse? What did he do, pretend to join them or something?"

Feliciano really couldn't think of anything to say to that.

Lovino's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding. Wait, why the hell would they trust him in the first place?"

Feliciano coughed, refusing to look at his brother. "They gave him the option. Apparently, it's one of their 'traditions' to make an offer for the strongest nation they come across to join them."

"And so they offered to Alfred join them, just like that?"

Feliciano shrugged. "Look, Lovino, I'm not even supposed to be telling you this, so just accept it at face value, please. I swear I'm not lying to you, and I need you to swear you won't tell anyone."

"Why not? If they don't know, they'll think Alfred has really betrayed us."

"That's the point! If they know Alfred is lying, then how will they be able to reasonably act like they believe he's a traitor? The more people that know, the more likely we are to give Alfred away. And then he really _will_ be a prisoner." He softly grabbed his brother's shoulders. "Please, _fratello_. We didn't come to this decision lightly. Both Alfred and I know the majority of you might end up truly hating us for this trick, but…"

Lovino huffed. "But you knew it was the only thing you could do in this situation. I understand the thinking, I guess. It was an unprecedented opportunity, and you took it. I get it." He sighed. "But I really don't want to think of how the others will react to this."

Feliciano shook his head. "Me either. I mean, they're supposed to be fooled, but I get more and more apprehensive as they slowly crawl closer to the 'truth' of the current situation, that is…"

"That Alfred has betrayed us."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you can get through this? Watching everyone vow to kill your lover? Watching them actively the man you love?"

"I'll get through it because I swore to Alfred I would. And that's that."

"You've grown, Feliciano."

Feliciano felt a warmth spread through his chest then, and he couldn't help but smile. He also couldn't help but notice the lack of uncontained rage and irritation that his brother was sporting. "So have you." He'd noticed Lovino's personality slowly changing for the better as time wore on, and he honestly couldn't be happier for his brother, though he sincerely wished the change had come about in a better situation.

Lovino glanced away, blushing. "Well, now that I'm not internally freaking out at the idea that my _fratello_ might be a traitor, let's get back inside and try to deal with what will no doubt be an onslaught of accusations and crazy theories."

"Yeah."

"Or, you know, you guys could always stay out here and fight us."

The brother's felt their hearts skip the same beat. That voice…Feliciano, utterly horrified and terrified beyond all reason—because his logic had completely failed him in this moment—slowly and hesitantly turned around, trailing his eyes up the side of the building to the three people sitting on top of it nonchalantly. Siphone, who was swinging her legs back and forth, giggling to herself at the expressions on the brothers' faces. Lucaster, balancing his scythe on his shoulder as he looked off into the sky, bored and disinterested. And…

And Alfred.

Seeing him dressed like…one of _them_ was painful enough, more painful than Feliciano had ever imagined. Even though he knew it was a façade, knew it was ploy, knew it was a ruse that had no basis in actual fact because Alfred was _not_ a traitor…Even then, his heart still ached to see his lover sitting on top of that roof, posing as an enemy, one blond eyebrow raised and lips quirked up in malicious amusement. Alfred's white coat was unbuttoned, held closed only by the black belt at his waist. He looked down at Feliciano and Lovino casually, appearing to be completely absorbed in his role. A little _too_ absorbed, they both couldn't help but think.

"Well, then," Alfred smirked, "I suppose you know what we're here for."

Of course he knew. He'd always known that sooner or later the enemy would come for them. They'd known the base's location for who knew how long. Feliciano heard Lovino growl next to him. "Well bring it on then, you traitorous bastard!"

Alfred pursed his lips. "Have it your way."

He teleported. _Teleported._ Then he was in front of Lovino, fist swinging for the older Italy's head. Lovino willed himself out of the way, appearing several feet back, several stray boards and bricks and broken pieces of concrete already rising as Lovino's magic surged trough his veins. Feliciano was frozen to the spot, shocked not only at Alfred's new magic abilities but also at his _ferocity_. It was supposed to look real, he knew, but the ferocious attacks were just...chilling. They were Alfred and not Alfred at the same time. They were of a man who fought for what he believed in…but not what _Alfred_ believed it.

"Aw," a female voice whispered haughtily into his ear, "sad you lost your little boyfriend?"

_How did she…?_ Feliciano felt the rage well up inside of him. "_Bitch."_ He snarled. He dropped beneath Siphone's kick and whipped his gun from its holster, aiming for her head. She teleported away, landing softly on the roof as if she was floating. Feliciano's eyes flicked over to Lucaster, who had yet to move. He was watching the fight with mild amusement. And it was then Feliciano was struck with a relation so frighteningly shocking that he nearly dropped his gun. Lucaster _knew_. He didn't know how, but he could tell the man knew Alfred's plan. And when their eyes met, the man's lips curled up into a tighter smirk, accompanied by a telling wink.

They knew. The enemy knew Alfred's plan. Feliciano wanted to turn around and scream at Alfred that he was caught, but he was unable to as Siphone barreled at him. He barely had time to dodge her kick as her foot shattered the blacktop beneath her feet, shards and chunks flying through the air like shrapnel. She knew too. They all knew, and she didn't want him to say anything about it. She watched him like a hawk, watched his movements for any sign of an attempt to call out to Alfred. _Fucking bitch._

He kicked at her and missed, but he followed her as she teleported , starting the same dance he'd practiced with Lovino several times. He kicked, she teleported and kicked, he teleported and punched, she teleported and swung at him with a knife, he dodged, teleported, and countered by pointing his gun at her. It was a swirl of violet flashes and blurs of deadly assaults. She backed off momentarily, coming to rest on the roof again, smirking. Feliciano took aim and fired. She moved to the left to dodge, obviously expecting a normal bullet. The bullet exploded where she'd been standing, the shockwave sending her reeling backward. Then Feliciano was there, delivering a swift kick to her face, channeling his magic into his leg to increase the force.

She flew back into the wall of the second level of the building, the concrete cracking on impact. Stunned, she couldn't move fast enough to evade his next punch. Unfortunately, Lucaster could move more than fast enough to catch it. The man gripped his wrist with all the force of his magic and heaved him around, throwing him off the roof and into the air. Catching his breath, he teleported back down, landing roughly in the roof. Glaring at Lucaster, who was blocking a pissed off Siphone cradling her chin, Feliciano aimed and fired again. They both managed to dodged this time, the wall behind them exploding.

Lucaster snickered as he appeared on another section of the roof. "Well, gee, if you'd told us you'd be doing our job, we wouldn't have bothered to come."

Feliciano frowned, splitting his glances between the pair of super-powered nations. They were slowly advancing on him, obviously prepared for him to make a move. Tense, he dared to spare a glance at Lovino and Alfred. They were caught in the dance of teleportation now, trapped in an endless fist-fight where not a single fist would ever land. In addition, Lovino was chucking every movable thing in the area at Alfred, who was blocking them with what looked like a force field made of magic. How had he learned so fast?

He barely dodged the scythe that cut through the air over his head. He had to will himself out of the way of Siphone's knife, grimacing as the blade nicked his knee. He fired off a round, and they dodged the force of the explosion. Feliciano took the brief opportunity to reload his gun, aiming and firing off several shots in multiple directions. Lucaster got caught in the shoulder by one and tumbled off the opposite side of the roof, landing face first on the barbed-wire fence. Feliciano smirked to himself. _Fucker deserved that one._

He leapt out of the way of Siphone's fist and stumbled backward before shifting several feet further away as Lucaster righted himself, spitting out blood that had dripped into his mouth from the multiple bleeding lacerations that dotted his face and stained his hair. They were both angry and bleeding now, and Feliciano could _feel_ the rage rising between them. Even with his current skills, there was no way he could beat them both at the same time if they really put all their effort into the fight. And it looked like they were more than ready to do that and more.

A strangled cry startled all three of them, and they whipped their heads to the parking lot below, spying a downed Lovino with Alfred's heavy boot pressing into his chest. _Alfred…go easy on him. Please._ Alfred didn't seem to be letting up, and Feliciano grew more and more nervous and confused as he watched his brother struggle to breathe. Again, he just barely evaded the deadly blade of Lucaster's scythe, and he knew he had to end this before anyone died. He steadied himself and prepared for a vicious onslaught.

"What the fuck?"

Stunned brown eyes immediately locked onto the group of nations pouring out into the parking lot from the side door, Gilbert in the lead, red eye wide and terrified. _Oh no. No. No. No. If they get involved, they can't protect themsel…_

"Oh, look, Lu! More toys to play with!" And then she was gone, appearing directly in front of Gilbert, knife poised to kill.

_No!_

* * *

**Dro: **You know what I've noticed? My number of chapter splits keeps decreasing in all my stories. Single scenes for the win? We'll see.

**Next Chapter:** The epic battle continues and rises to new heights, new stakes, and new participants.


	28. Wings of Wax II

**Dro: **Yay, another chapter of World Powers! Enjoy, you guys! **And drop me a review, too!** You know you want to. -wink-

**Chapter Summary:** The epic battle continues, Feliciano becomes even more confused, and something startling happens.

**Warnings:** Violence

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH, peoples! Never! Never! Never...-weeps-

* * *

Gilbert dropped, barely evading the knife, and rolled out of the way, the rest of the nations immediately going into action. Antonio and Francis pulled out guns and fired at Siphone, who playfully dodged their best attempts at hitting her. Giggling, she teleported back onto the roof. Feliciano watched in horror as Siphone pulled out her own gun and aimed at the crowd still bleeding through the doors. He was there before he could blink, whipping around from the shocked faces of his friends to face Siphone's bullet just in time. The bullet exploded as it made impact, and Feliciano barely held his ground, the force field of magic he'd formed threatening to crack under the pressure. But it held, and his friends lived, and that was all that mattered.

Something was cracking inside of him though. He could feel the dullness of a shield that was holding back a raging inferno begin to warp with the heat. These bastards…how dare they come here and try to kill his loved ones. He'd lost enough ready, damn it. No more. The smoke cleared, revealing his defense, and Siphone balked, annoyed at her failure. She dropped her childlike façade, revealing the monster beneath. Her eyes narrowed sharply, red hair seeming to puff up like a furious cat as the electric thrum of her magic started to pervade the area around her. Feliciano could feel the intensity of her aura increasing, and he knew she was about to explode. Attacks of that strength would no doubt kill several of the people behind him, who were all still too stunned at the situation to respond properly.

Several people had noticed Alfred among the enemy now, and they were all staring on in horror as their long time friend and ally tossed Lovino across the parking lot. Lovino's lip was bloody, but other than that, he didn't appear to have any injuries. It seemed, however, that Alfred was pulling out all the stops on him, and Feliciano's worry kept doubling over and over as he watched Lovino's magic slowly dwindle while Alfred's kept up without a single disturbance in intensity. He'd been given _a lot_ of it. More than Lovino had. More than he had. Feliciano would almost go so far to say he had more than Lucaster and Siphone.

Siphone moved to teleport, but Feliciano beat her, snatching Antonio's gun before he could react and appearing next to her on the roof and firing at point blank range before teleporting backward to avoid his own shot. It worked. Siphone couldn't dodge it in time, and the force of the blow sent her flying head over heels into the side of the building. Feliciano ran at her, using his magic to speed up his body and increase the force of the oncoming blow. Lucaster appeared in front of him. Feliciano smirked, aiming to kick. Then he teleported _behind_ Lucaster and in front of Siphone, taking the dazed girl by shock as his kick landed on the bridge of her neck and shoulder. The magic-infused blow sent her off the roof and crashing face first into the concrete. Blood splattered across the concrete on impact.

Lucaster, enraged, flung his scythe around, going for Feliciano's neck. But he ducked it and uppercut the man, sending him flying into the air. Feliciano chased after him, delivering a swift knee the man's gut before teleporting behind him and drop kicking him. He crashed back onto the roof and rolled down and off, landing a few feet away from Siphone, who was now on her knees, holding the side of her head.

Feliciano took the brief reprieve to look back to the others. Lovino was slowly failing to block Alfred's blows, and frighteningly, the two of them were inching closer and closer to the shocked crowd. Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis couldn't seem to decide whether to attack Alfred or not, and the rest of them—Roderich, Elizaveta, Ivan, Kiku, and Yao—just stood there, slack-jawed. Feliciano knew it wouldn't last forever, and he knew the moment they attacked, this was all over. If they provoked a magic attack from Lucaster or Siphone, they were dead.

Feliciano sucked in a deep breath and appeared on the ground. Right between his brother and Alfred. Both paused. Feliciano, without looking back, ordered his brother. "Go protect the others."

"But—"

"Do what I say." He barked. His eyes locked onto Alfred's, and he heard instead of saw Lovino teleport to a guarding position in front of the shocked group of nations.

"Feli."

"Alfred."

The two stood a few feet apart, circling each other like predators. Alfred smiled, deceptively normal. "Been doing okay?"

"You just left a few days ago."

He shrugged. "Figured they'd be giving you a hard time."

"Some of them."

"I see."

They were off. He caught a punch from Alfred. One that almost _broke_ his hand into _pieces_. Had he not pumped an intense amount of magic in it at the last second, he was sure he wouldn't have even _had_ a hand left. How had Lovino been dealing with this? At this rate, Alfred would exhaust his magic before he could even land a single blow. Why wasn't Alfred holding back any? His natural strength was enough as it was, so why was using so much magic? Unless he really _was_ intending to hurt them. That couldn't be. He blasted the nagging thought away.

And he was glad he did. A few moments later, they were on the roof, blocking punches and catching kicks, and teleporting around each other in that same old dance of death that Feliciano was becoming all too used to. Neither was gaining ground, but neither was losing any either. And Feliciano quickly came to understand why. It was Alfred's eyes that gave it away. They were moving so fast, he'd almost missed it at first, but every time Alfred faced away from Lucaster and Siphone, his eyes would be overcome with emotion. And as soon as he faced them, those sky blue irises would instantly harden, all the sympathy draining from them.

So Alfred was still pretending. Then why was he fighting so hard? The idea came to him moments after the question. What if Alfred didn't _know_ he was using so much strength? His own natural strength must have felt normal to him, so infusing it with some magic to make it stronger may not have made him feel _that_ much stronger. He didn't realize. He had so much strength now, he didn't even know the half of it. The dual sense of relief and terror struck him at the same time. Alfred was trying his best to fight convincingly, but with the increased strength he had, it would be so easy for him to slip and be _too _convincing. Alfred, despite the fact that he _was_ holding back, could easily end up hurting him. Badly. And he probably wouldn't even know it until it was too late.

_Damn it, Alfred._ And then there was the problem in somehow discreetly telling Alfred the enemy knew his plan. How could he get the message across without alerting anyone else? He didn't want this to blow up in Alfred's face. Thinking quickly, he positioned himself to drop underneath Alfred as a punch blew by his head, and he whipped around, coming up behind Alfred before the man could move. His head passed by Alfred's ear for the briefest of moments, but it was enough.

"They know."

Alfred teleported around, sending off another kick that landed less than an inch from Feliciano's face, so powerful Feliciano felt the force of the kick sting his face anyway. Alfred, now facing away from Siphone and Lucaster, who were slowly creeping toward the crowd of nations guarded by Lovino, mouthed a response.

"I know."

Confusion was not a strong enough word. Why in God's name would Alfred keep up the pretense like this if he knew that the enemy already knew his plan? What the hell was going on up in that airship? He wanted to sit down and have a nice, long talk with Alfred about just what had occurred after he left, but he knew he probably wouldn't have that opportunity. He slid by another jutting kick from Alfred's boot and managed to take another glimpse at his lover. Alfred mouthed him some more words.

"Trust me."

He did. His brain was malfunctioning trying to figure out the logic behind all this. His heart was aching watching his lover attack his own friends. But he trusted Alfred still. A dull buzz filled his ears then, and he immediately realized that the base was going into emergency mode. Several helicopters appeared over the roof of the facility, guns aimed and ready to fire. Feliciano cursed to himself. Those idiots were going to make it worse. Their bosses knew the enemy utilized magic, though he could tell they didn't quite buy it. Trying to use normal mortal means against these people wasn't going to get very far.

And they knew it too.

Feliciano saw Lucaster, now back on his feet, chuckle before teleporting. He hovered in the air for just a moment, directly in front of the helicopter's windshield. Before Feliciano ever had a chance to react, Lucaster brought his magic-powered scythe through the cockpit, instantly killing both pilots. Then he was back on the ground, smiling, amused. The helicopter spun out of control, crashing into its partner before the other pilot could maneuver out of the way. The blades of the out of control vehicle diced into the other one, destroying any chance of survival as it hit several people and sent both vehicles into a death spiral.

Feliciano's heart skipped a beat as the vehicles came to a crashing stop onto the ground, bursting into a flame so hot he felt it from his position on the roof. The nations finally snapped out of their shock and scattered, some fleeing back into the building. Gilbert, Antonio, and Ivan stayed, and Feliciano heard Gilbert shout to Francis to get everyone out of the building. They were running. Like Feliciano knew they would. He turned to face Alfred, who had stopped to watch the carnage unfold. In the light cast by the fire, Alfred face seemed to flicker between the lover Feliciano knew and the enemy he feared. For the briefest second, he could've sworn he saw someone else standing behind Alfred, and a sinister dread filled him to the brim. Something was very wrong with this situation.

It didn't make sense. None of this did. The enemy knew, but Alfred was still acting. What was the purpose of it? Why pretend to betray your friends if it had no real gain? Something was very wrong here. He trusted Alfred more than anyone else, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong in the short time his lover had been aboard that airship. The sounds of a fight broke him from his daze.

Lovino was now taking on Lucaster and Siphone, trying his best to stop them from getting to Gilbert, Antonio, and Ivan, who were quickly advancing to try and "help." But Feliciano knew if they interfered, they'd end up getting killed. He glared at Alfred. "Let's finish this."

Alfred frowned, something unidentifiable flickering in his eyes. The next Feliciano knew, the wall of the second story of the building was blown outward, and he whipped around just in time to see a hoard of panicking people running away from the destroyed wall. He slowly turned back to Alfred, horror on his face. How had he done that? Alfred's pupil's were ringed in violet, the color slowly bleeding into his brilliant blue irises. Feliciano knew his eyes were the same, but there was something in the way Alfred's magic seemed like a creeping _infection_ that scared the hell out of him.

"Alfred…"

"I though we were finishing this."

A sense of resignation slowly crept over Feliciano. They would have to fight to some sort of end, and they would have to make it look real. So they danced again. Neither made a hit, neither failed to dodge, and neither seemed to be aware of the world around him. Eventually, awareness returned to Feliciano, and then he was acutely alert to the spreading fire of the downed helicopters that had expanded to the building and was beginning to send the entire facility up in flames. The wall that Alfred had mentally torn away had caused the rest of the second floor to become unsound, and as people fled faster and feet pounding harder, the entire floor seemed to warp and shift, and Feliciano knew it was about to crumble, taking everyone on the floor with it. _But Alfred wouldn't intentionally kill anyone. I know it. He made sure not to. He wouldn't. I know it. He wouldn't. _He thought he knew, anyway.

Alfred's fist went straight for his head, and his thought-dulled reactions made him fail to move. He saw Alfred's eye widen at the last second, knowing the man had been sure he would move in time. He'd had no reason to think otherwise. Feliciano knew there was no way either could move to avoid impact in time, so the best he could do was pump as much magic as he could in that split second into a shield-like bubble in front of his cheek.

It weakened the hit, but it didn't stop it.

The force of the punch sent Feliciano flying into the pile of rubble from the destroyed wall. He landed in a pile of jagged cement and plaster, his shirt and hands and arms and face shearing open from the edges as he rolled further into it. When he finally came to a halt, his body feeling like every ounce of energy had suddenly been forced out by Alfred's hit, he laid there motionless for several seconds. From behind him, he heard Alfred's breath hitch as the man no doubt started thinking he'd seriously injured Feliciano. Feliciano desperately wanted to prove him wrong, but his head was aching, his jaw dislocated, his face bloodied from several different wounds, and the rest of his body stinging madly with a thousand cuts and even more forming bruises. It took him several seconds to even start breathing right again.

After another five seconds of stunned silence, he heard Alfred approach him. "Feli?" He whispered, his voice panicked.

"Fine." He tried to say, but it came out garbled, his jaw refusing to work properly.

"Shit. I didn't mean…"

Feliciano rolled over and aimed his gun at Alfred. Somehow, it hadn't fallen out of its holster. Alfred froze, but relaxed as he saw the look in Feliciano's eyes. Forgiveness. He slipped his mask back on, returning to his role as the enemy. He approached Feliciano slowly, each step deliberate and threatening. Alfred didn't seem to have any weapons like Siphone and Lucaster, and Feliciano knew why. He was so naturally strong that, with the magic, any normal weaponry would be an impediment as opposed to an advantage.

Alfred closed in on him just as Feliciano finally managed to stand back up, a wave of dizziness striking him. He barely managed to keep his balance, but he kept his gun raised high, aimed directly at Alfred's face. Surely, he knew, they would start dancing again. Alfred held up a hand, palm facing Feliciano, obviously threatening some sort of magic pulse or telekinesis. Feliciano dug into his stance, finger slightly tightening on the trigger. They needed to convincingly move from this position before they ended up at an impasse that would look suspicious to anyone watching if they moved from.

Their eyes met again, both sets burning in a combination of adrenaline, fear, confusion, and love, cleverly disguised as fake rage.

Alfred took one more step toward him, winking. Understanding, Feliciano pulled the trigger. The bullet left the barrel the same time Alfred faltered at the voice.

"Alfred!"

Matthew.

Matthew was in the war zone of a parking lot, screaming frantically up at his "traitor" brother. Alfred, completely shocked, failed to move like he'd promised Feliciano, and he had to watch in absolute distress as Alfred dodged too late, the impact of the exploding bullet sending him over the side of the building. He landed with a sharp crack on the pavement below him, right near where Matthew was standing. The younger brother rushed to Alfred's side and rolled the stunned man over. Alfred's left arm had gotten caught in the explosion, and while he'd dulled the impact with his own magic, the torn fabric still revealed severely burned skin underneath. Alfred was grimacing in pain, his eyes clenched shut. So distracted was he by the pain, he never noticed Lucaster sneak up behind Matthew, his scythe swinging before Feliciano ever had a chance to stop it.

Matthew sensed it a moment too late. He ducked out of the way, but the blade caught him in the back, slicing from his shoulder, across his back, and clipping his arm. He screamed in agony, falling face first to the ground. Alfred's eyes snapped open, immediately honing in on his injured brother, who's back was now bleeding furiously.

Alfred's eyes went completely violet.

Feliciano, who'd been ready to move, froze at the feeling that hit him like a freight train. The sheer _force_ of Alfred's magic _tripled_, and the insane aura shot throughout the entire area, all the nations faltering. All of them. Even Siphone. Lucaster, so close to the epicenter, stood completely rigid, almost as if he was held in place by Alfred's…

Because he was.

Alfred rose to his feet, eerily silent, and slowly approached Lucaster, who was now visibly struggling to move. But he couldn't. Because Alfred was holding him there with his _mind._ A hand shot up in the blink of an eye and wrapped around Lucaster's throat, hoisting the man off the ground.

When he spoke, Alfred's voice was overcome by the darkest poison Feliciano had ever heard in his life. It was pitch black. "Let me make something very clear to you." He said, violet eyes latched onto Lucaster's terrified and helpless form. "If you ever touch my brother again, I will _destroy_ you. And I mean _destroy_. I don't mean kill or maim or beat. I will _rip_ you to pieces, bit by fucking bit, until you are a limbless, bleeding, mass of agony. And then I will burn you out of existence to the point where your fucking soul is nothing but ashes! Do you understand me?"

Silence seemed to fall over the entire area, the raging fire in the background even quieting itself for a moment so dark and threatening.

Lucaster could only mumble incoherently.

And Feliciano could only stare on in complete shock, his mind blank.

_Where did this side of Alfred come from?_

_What happened to you, Alfred?_

Someone clapped.

"Well this is certainly an amusing show, isn't it?"

Feliciano dared to look. And God, he wished he hadn't.

Sitting on the other side of the roof, cape slung haphazardly onto his shoulders , legs crossed, leaning back nonchalantly, smirk adorning his face…

…was England.

* * *

**Dro:** Stay tuned, the next chapter is even more shocking!

**Next Chapter:** Alter! Arthur coaxes Alfred out of his rage, and then he chooses to do something that shocks everyone.


	29. Wings of Wax III

**Dro: **I know you guys have just been itching to see the end of this fiasco. Well, here it is! So enjoy, and **do review**! I have a feeling you'll want to once you get to the end. -wink-

**Chapter Summary:** Matthew finds himself in over his head, and Arthur finds himself feeling alone all over again.

**Warnings:** None?

**Disclaimer:** As always (and sadly, forever), Dro does not own APH.

* * *

The world seemed to be encompassed by an unearthly silence. Siphone was frozen to the spot, wide eyes stuck gazing at her boss. Lucaster's eyes were equally wide, but he was still staring down at Alfred, still terrified. Alfred's pulsating purple irises shifted to England, whose greens narrowed in response. Gilbert, Antonio, Romano, and Ivan didn't seem to know what to do. They were motionless and thoughtless at the sight of their long time friend reigning above this disaster. Feliciano felt a dull anger pulsing through him. This was _all_ England's fault. All of this. How dare he act so indifferent about what he'd done?

"Alfred." England murmured. And then he was _there_, standing to next Alfred, hand on Alfred's arm. "It's time to let him go. You've made your point." Those damned green eyes glanced down at the bleeding Matthew. "I'll heal your brother."

The purple began to recede from Alfred's irises. He dropped Lucaster, the traumatized man tumbling to the ground with a dull thump. England, good on his word, knelt down next to the agonized Matthew, who was shaking in pain, removed his glove, and pressed it to Matthew's back. The boy gasped as the magic surged through him, and Feliciano's eyes widened as he watched the torn skin on Matthew's back knead itself back together. Lovino had told him England had healed him like this, but actually seeing it…what kind of magic did it take to have that skill?

As soon as he was done, he stood, and Alfred let out a haggard sigh, the last of the violet disappearing from his eyes. He collapsed just as England turned to face him again, and the man caught him, holding his limp form tightly. Alfred had used all his energy to threaten Lucaster. Feliciano desperately wanted to teleport down there and grab Alfred, but he knew that wasn't a viable option. England would _destroy_ him before he had the chance to make a move. The man was too powerful. There wouldn't be enough of him _left_ to even be recognizable if he dared to take on that much power. So he stood by and watched, devastated, as England hoisted Alfred into his arms, cradling him gently, ready to once again take him away from Feliciano.

Matthew, stunned but now healed, pushed him into a sitting position. His light violet eyes widened at the sight of his former guardian towering over him. Covered in blood and shocked by pain, he struggled to speak. "A…Arthur…?"

England cocked his head to the side, thoughtful, considering. "It seems your presence will be a problem for me." His whistled, and Siphone perked up. She appeared behind Matthew and hoisted him up, pinning his arms to his side so he couldn't escape.

"Matvey!" Ivan yelled across the parking lot, eyes narrow and dangerous. England blinked at him, a hint of annoyance in his eyes. Before anyone could react, Ivan was flung against the wall, the cement cracking at the impact. He gasped in pain and tumbled to the ground, unable to get up. Matthew screamed in terror.

England sighed, irritated. "Let's get out of here." He glanced at the downed Lucaster. "That includes you, you imbecile." Lucaster, obviously in pain, managed to get himself to his feet.

Gasping for air, he nodded at his boss. England, apparently satisfied, nodded his head. Feliciano let out a loud cry as he felt the magic pulse around the group of them, but he moved too late to do anything. By the time he was on the ground, they were already gone.

Feliciano dropped to his knees, not caring as they scraped against the concrete. Lovino rushed over to him, teleporting, and dropping to his knees next to his brother. "_Fratello!_ Are you okay?" Lovino grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently.

Slowly, Feliciano met his brother's eyes. He couldn't talk properly with his jaw like it was, so he nodded instead. Lovino seemed unconvinced. "We need to get you medical attention. Come one. Everyone's fleeing the base. We need to catch up." He pulled one of Feliciano's arms over his shoulders and hauled him up, wrapping his arm around Feliciano's waist. Numbly, Feliciano let his brother lead him on, his head an incoherent mush of thoughts.

When they passed through the open doorway, he caught a glimpse of Gilbert and Antonio helping up the fallen Ivan, who stared, devastated, at the place where Matthew had disappeared. Another loss. Just another loss in a long, long line. By the time they reached the pre-planned evacuation area, there were only a few vehicles left. Armed guards were waiting for them. They ushered the remaining nations into the cars, a couple of medical staff along with them, and they took off, leaving the base behind. As the two doctors inspected his face, he half-listened to the soldiers at the wheel. They were going to a backup location. As many of their belongings as possible had been grabbed. They would arrive in about six hours. And on and on and on. Feliciano only processed about half of it.

Alfred.

That bastard England had done something to Alfred. This wasn't the Alfred he knew. That feral way he'd glared at Lucaster. The anger, the _rage_, the threats…those weren't Alfred. The _magic_ had taken him over for that brief moment. England's magic. England had _infected_ him with that magic, Feliciano knew now. That fucker was going to use it as a way to get inside Alfred's head, to manipulate him into really joining their side. He had to stop this, somehow, someway…but how? How could he possibly get to Alfred in time? He'd only been gone for a few days, and England had already done this much.

He wanted to cry. He'd _let_ Alfred do this. He should've stopped him. He should've talked his lover out of this. But he hadn't. And now he was paying the price. Now _Alfred_ was paying the price. What if England did something irreversible to him? What if he messed with Alfred's mind in way that it could never be fixed? What if he'd truly lost Alfred already?

"Feliciano…" Lovino tried his hardest to snap his brother out of his daze, but nothing seemed to work. Even after the doctors had proclaimed Feliciano needed surgery to fix his jaw and left him alone, even as the sun sank low in the sky, Feliciano continued to stare off at nothing, lost inside his own head, tortured by his own thoughts. Eventually, Lovino gave up, and he weaved his fingers in between his brothers', praying to God that they would all somehow get through this in one piece.

* * *

Alfred came to with a nervous Arthur staring down at him. His head felt fuzzy, his thoughts jumbled, and he had a killer migraine. He groaned at the intensity of it. The light in the room burned his eyes, and he snapped his lids closed again. He heard Arthur moved on the bed and grabbed what rattled like a bottle of pills. The cap popped off loudly. The sound hurt his ears, and he cringed.

"Here, Alfred." Arthur whispered softly. "Take these." He pressed three pills into Alfred's open palm. Alfred popped them in without a second though and took the glass of water that Arthur offered, gulping it down. Then he laid back, trying to ignore the too intense sensations around him.

"Is it that bad?"

"Yes…" He groaned.

"That's what happens when you go over your limits with magic. It takes a toll on your body."

"Over my limits?" Alfred honestly had no clue what he was talking about. "What did I do?"

Arthur said nothing for several seconds, and Alfred almost dared to crack an eye open to see what was wrong. Then Arthur asked, "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

Arthur sighed, shaky and sad. "I see." His hand brushed against Alfred's forehand, pushing stray hairs out of his eyes. "You agreed to raid the base."

The base? Oh, the nations' base. The memory languidly began to piece itself back together. "Oh…right…I remember…" He had attacked them. He'd fought against Lovino first, and he'd doe his best not to really hurt the guy, but he'd had an incredibly hard time keeping his strength to a minimum. Then Feli…oh, _God_, he'd fought with Feli. It had been such a terrible battle. Every punch, every kick, every blip of magic had rebounded back to his soul, cracking his heart piece by piece. He _hated_ fighting Feli. It was the worst experience of his life. And then…what had happened after that? It was blurry…

"I don't remember all of it…"

Arthur sighed again. "_He_ said you probably wouldn't. You let your magic get the best of you. You let it overtake you and you almost killed Lucaster."

"I did?" He couldn't focus on that memory at all. "But, I was so in control of it. What happened?"

"I don't know. That was all he told me. I'm pretty sure he's hiding something, but I'm not sure what it is. I'll try to get to the bottom of this though, so you just rest up, alright?" He heard Arthur moved to stand, and his hand shot out and grabbed Arthur's arm. Arthur froze. "Alfred? Are you okay?"

"Stay. Stay with me." His voice shook. "Please."

Arthur, shocked at the fear in Alfred's voice, laid down, positioning himself next to Alfred. "Alright." He draped his arm around Alfred's torso, pressing himself against his old lover. Alfred said nothing more after that.

Hours later, when Arthur was thoroughly convinced Alfred had fallen back to sleep, he removed himself from the pained blond man and tucked him back in. He closed the door gently behind him, letting out a deep breath and pressing his head against it. This was all becoming so complicated. When he'd first heard that Alfred had actually agreed to the raid the base, he'd been skeptical. He was sure the other him had compelled Alfred. But as time had worn on, he'd been less and less sure. Alfred wasn't acting like he'd been compelled. His double had sworn that he had not and would not compel Alfred. So why had Alfred done it? There was no way Alfred was foolish enough to think that keeping up this ruse to their comrades would have any sort of gain, so what was going on?

And on top of that mystery, his double was hiding something. He didn't know what it was, but he knew he wasn't wrong. The man had evaded the crucial question of why had Alfred had lost control. Alfred had had plenty of control in training, so it wasn't like he was bad at it to begin with. _Something_ had to have happened to trigger a loss of control. And that _something_ was what his double was hiding from him. He'd have to investigate this, he knew.

He looked longingly down the empty hallway.

All alone.

Even with Alfred here, he was still all alone.

* * *

Matthew came to feeling cold. He was shirtless, a thin blanket strewn carelessly over him. He sat up, grimacing at the tightness in his back. Spots swam around in his vision. What had happened to him again? The memories rushed back to him. He gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth. _Alfred._ Alfred had…_betrayed_ them? It wasn't really possible, right? But his memories didn't lie. Alfred had _attacked_ them. He'd been destroying their base. He was working with the enemy. He was…his brother was a _traitor_.

Pain entered his memory, and he grabbed at his back. He'd been mortally wounded by Lucaster. He knew it, so where had the wound gone? His back was completely smooth. Something else had happened. What was he forgetting?

"You're a wrench in my plans, you know?"

He froze.

Slowly, he shifted his gaze to the large window to his left, where Arthur was sitting in a lone chair. "I was quite irritated to find that your pain set Alfred off like that. I certainly can't have that happening every time I send him on a mission somewhere. You've proven yourself a liability. Obviously, I can't kill you, or I risk putting myself in the way of Alfred's wrath, not to mention completely ruining my plans. So…" He tapped his finger on the armrest. "What to do with you, Matthew?"

"Arthur…" He swallowed thickly. He hadn't wanted to believe Arthur was behind all this, but there was his proof sitting in front of him. He slipped out of bed, pants a size to large hanging off his hips. "Arthur, please…"

"Well, now that I think about it, I suppose I could use a personal servant. Siphone and Lucaster are usually busy. Alfred's in training. I'm certainly not using a _human_ for the job."

Matthew stiffened. Did the man not even care that he'd betrayed them all? Did he not care about Matthew? Arthur had always confused him with Alfred, always been forgetful of him, but even then…Arthur had never been _dismissive_ of him. He _did_ take Matthew seriously. He _did _care. Or so he thought. This Arthur, the one in front of him, the one who wouldn't even spare him a glance…had this been the _real_ Arthur the entire time? A dull throb of anger started to rise in his chest. He was usually able to keep his calm in bad situations, but this…this was too much.

"I will not be your _servant_," he spat. "How dare you think I'll just go along with this! I know you've done _something_ to Alfred. I'm not stupid, Arthur."

Arthur was suddenly _there_, face inches away from his. A hand shot out and grabbed his chin, holding him in place. "No, you are not, nor have you ever been, Matthew." His eyes roved over Matthew's body until they made it back to his face. "I greatly dislike having to invite so many of you onto my ship. If I had this my way, _none_ of you would be here. But I have found some…opportunities in this place, and I will utilize them even if they are slightly irritating at first. You, unfortunately, just happened to be tacked on to one of those opportunities, so I find myself obligated to keep you around, here, and _safe_. However, you will not get a free ride by any standards. I find your presence slightly annoying, so you _will_ do something to make up for it."

Matthew opened his mouth to retaliate, but then Arthur's eyes met his own. And then he was lost. He tried to resist at first, tried his hardest to escape the green, infinite gaze, but he couldn't. It swallowed him whole, and he was lost in a void, his mind blank.

"Matthew, _obey _me."

Arthur released Matthew's chin. Matthew's half-lidded eyes stared at nothing, and Arthur waited several seconds for them to come back into focus. Soft purple eyes rose to meet his own, eyes now filled with utter devotion. Arthur cupped Matthew's cheek, and the boy leaned into his touch, eyes slipping shut.

"Matthew…"

Matthew fell to his knees, his eyelids rising to reveal a pair of violets drowning in adoration. "Yes?" He whispered.

"Will you do as I say?"

Matthew did not hesitate.

"Yes, Lord Britannia."

* * *

**Dro:** Uh oh...well this complicates things.

**Next Chapter:** Arthur is forced to deal with what his double has done to Matthew. Said double finds himself rethinking his original plan for Matthew after contemplating a surprising discovery.


	30. Prelude to Wonderland

**Dro: **I'm still contemplating whether or not I want to start another story right now. I probably won't since I have two midterms next week. I'll start **Ripples in the Water** the week after next, okay? Anyway, do you enjoy this chapter. I know everyone is wondering what's going to happen to Canada. And I'm sure the ending of this chapter will leave you on the edge of your seat. Do **review**, and tell me if I'm right. -wink-

**Chapter Summary:** Arthur, angry at what his double's reduced Matthew to, unintentionally causes something painful to befall his former charge. Potentially more than one something.

**Warnings:** Language, Violence

**Disclaimer:** Of course, because between this chapter and the last chapter, I magically came up with the many, many millions of dollars necessary to purchase the rights to Hetalia.

* * *

Arthur walked softly down the hallway, his bare feet padding on the cold floor. The sun had just risen moments ago, and though he would have usually been asleep until much later, Arthur had been unable to keep his eyes closed. Whatever his double was hiding was eating away at him, and he was itching to discover what it was. So he'd hopped up, slipped on a pair of pants and a shirt, and left his room behind. The hallways were silent this time of day, and Arthur found himself enjoying it. He needed to think. He turned a corner, spotting the door that led to his double's personal library. The man had said he was usually in there in the mornings.

He entered without knocking, the sounds of someone putting books back on a shelf filtering into his ears. He glanced around and saw no one standing, so he headed around to the right, looking for someone crouching down to the lower shelves. No one on that side. He turned around to search the other side just as a familiar voice started speaking.

"Is there something I can help you with, Arthur?"

Arthur froze as a recognizable figure rose into a standing position, books cradled in his arms. He blew a strand of blond hair out of his face and looked at Arthur with far-too-content eyes, expectation written across his irises.

"M…Matthew?" Arthur willed himself over to the boy, grabbing his shoulders. "What are you doing here?"

"Lord Britannia brought me here." He answered in that eerily content voice.

"Lord…? Why…why would you call him that?" Arthur's heart was racing. Why was Matthew here? And what was wrong with him? He shouldn't have been acting like this. Matthew, despite being shy at times, was incredibly headstrong like Alfred. He should've been trying to escape or…

"Because…he is?" Matthew cocked his head to the side, questioning Arthur, as if the answer was just _that_ obvious.

Arthur felt cold. "What has he done to you?" This was the answer to the mystery. Matthew was the reason that Alfred had lost control. He _had_ to be. So his double had kidnapped Matthew to prevent a recurrence of that incident. _Damn you, you fucker! Of all the people to hurt, why did you have to pick Matthew?_

Matthew shook his head. "What do you mean, Arthur? I'm not injured."

Arthur wanted to cry. _Oh God, Matthew, not you…_ "No, Matthew, that's not what I meant. I mean, why are you acting this way?"

It seemed to dawn on him, and he smiled. "Ah, that. Lord Britannia compelled me to obey him, of course." He said nonchalantly.

Arthur blanked. "W-what?"

"I said—"

"I heard you, Matthew! But why are you acting so…?" He found himself at a loss for words. Unfortunately, Matthew did not.

"Happy? He compelled me to be. He said I to organize his books and be happy about it." With that, Matthew sank back down and started shelving books again.

Arthur slapped a hand over his mouth, his stomach churning madly. _That fucker…how dare he…!_ "M-Matthew…stop for a second."

He shook his head. "I stopped long enough. I don't want to anger Lord Britannia."

"Stop calling him that."

Matthew sighed. "I can't, Arthur. Why are you being so frustrating? He compelled me. I have to do what he says. I know he's been teaching you magic, so surely you understand why I can't stop."

He did. He did completely. But God, it hurt so much watching Matthew be _used_ like this. "I swear to God I'll get him to release you from this."

Matthew shrugged. "I guess you could try, but he seemed pretty adamant about keeping me this way. He says that I'm a danger to his plan for Al, so he needs to keep me safe. But he doesn't freeloaders, so he decided to give me a job."

"What? Personal servant?"

"Yep."

Now Arthur felt _really_ sick. "That…god-damned, no good, sodding…!"

"Arthur! There you are!" His double strode through the library door and teleported over to him, draping himself over Arthur's shoulders. "I've been looking for you." He glanced at Matthew, who was still shelving books. "Ah, I see you've already found Matthew. Good, so I don't need to explain then?"

Arthur shirked him off. "Excuse me? Do you honestly think I'm okay with you compelling him into being your slave?"

His double snorted. "Of course not, but it has its benefits."

"What kind of benefits?"

"Well, it was either this or I stick him in a cell. Take your pick." The man crossed his arms, challenging.

Arthur felt his argument die on his lips. Shaking, he spat back, "Fine! Have it your way. But I swear to God if this permanently affects him in any way…!" His double pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off.

"It won't. I swear. I'm good at this. As soon as I release him from the compulsion, he'll be back to normal. For now, just think about it this way: He's safe. I'm not going to hurt him. You can even spend time with him if you want. He just happened to be a detriment to my plans down on Earth, so I brought him here." He patted Arthur's cheeks. "All good now?"

Arthur scowled. "Most definitely not. But since I obviously can't do anything about it…" He glanced sympathetically at Matthew one more time before roughly brushing past his double. When he got the door, he paused. "You know, Alfred is going to resent you for this."

His double just shrugged.

* * *

When Alfred awoke again, he felt much better than he had the night before. The fogginess in his head had receded to the edges of his consciousness. His body felt energized. He sat up, letting the sheets pool around his waist, and ran a hand through his hair. Yawning, he took a look around his room. Hadn't Arthur been here last time? Yeah, he remembered. Arthur had given him some medicine and told him…Oh, that was right. He'd lost control of his magic and went berserk or something. Why had he done that again? He still couldn't remember.

His eyes landed on a shadow by the window. A shadow? He squinted, his glasses still laying on the nightstand. No, not a shadow. Someone dressed in black. Was that…?

"Arthur?"

The man turned around to face him, rising from the chair. Alfred's room was doused in darkness, the sun having risen on the other side of the ship. Dim light filtered in through the large window, and Alfred found himself fidgeting. Which Arthur was it? He couldn't tell in this light. He reached over and grabbed his glasses, slipping them on. When he looked back up, Arthur was gone. And there was a presence sinking into the bed beside him. He jumped as Arthur's hand landed on his cheek and forced his face to the right.

Oh, well that answered his question.

The other Arthur stared back up at him. "Morning, Alfred."

"Morning." Crap, what was going on?

"How're you feeling?" The man gently caressed his cheek, and Alfred found himself blushing.

"Better."

The other Arthur smiled. "Good. I was afraid you'd hurt yourself."

"Um, so what happened again? I don't remember why I…"

"Your brother."

Alfred felt a surge of fear. "Matt? Oh God, did I hurt Matt? Is he okay?" He started to rise, but the man held him down.

"Matthew is fine. Lucaster was the one that harmed him. You lost control at the sight of his wounds. No need to worry though. I handled it. Matthew is in my library, organizing my books. Perfectly fine. I thought it would be best if I brought him with us."

The blood drained from Alfred's face. "Matt's _here_?"

The man nodded. "Indeed he is. I didn't want to risk you losing control again and hurting someone unintentionally, so I brought him here and gave him a job to do."

"You gave him…why would Matt listen to you?"

The other Arthur raised an eyebrow. Alfred felt a spark of rage. "You compelled him?"

"Calm down, Alfred. It will have no adverse effects on him. I promise you that. Meanwhile, he will be here and safe, and you can watch over him all you want. Trust me, this will be better for you _and_ him."

Alfred shook with rage. "Don't you dare claim that! You're planning to use him as leverage, aren't you? You want to use him to make me bend to your will."

"If I wanted to bend you to my will, I would have compelled you."

Alfred swallowed. "I don't trust you."

The double shrugged. "You don't have to. I'm the one in control here. And I'm just telling you the facts. Your brother is here, and here's staying here. Take that any way you want." He pecked Alfred's lips and vanished, reappearing at the door for a brief second and waving before exiting the room.

Alfred clenched his bed sheets. How had this gotten so out of control? One moment, he thought he'd had this in the bag, then he realized Arthur's double had been two steps ahead of him at every turn. And now he'd unwittingly gotten _Matt_ involved in this. Matt was not supposed to be here. Matt was supposed to be safe on the ground, not caught in this fucking spider's web. _Damn it, Alfred! Look what you've done!_ He wondered if Feliciano was feeling this way now. Feliciano had trusted Alfred to have everything out of control. But with his display at the base, it was now obvious to everyone involved that he had lost any sense of it. He'd really fucked this up. The other Arthur was dragging him further and further into his web, and soon Alfred would be too stuck to get out. _God, Feliciano, forgive me. I've really screwed up, haven't I? Somehow, I have to get out of this. I wish you were here to calm me down. I wish you were here period. _He groaned.

* * *

Arthur had been watching him like a hawk all day. Matthew had tried to shirk off the man's gaze, but it was quite unnerving. Matthew wasn't a fool. He knew it was wrong to feel happy in this situation. He knew it was wrong to obey Lord Britannia. Unfortunately, he had no control over either of those things, and he wished Arthur would get that. The man had tried several times to talk him out of his compelled tasks, and Matthew had taken to ignoring him and rolling his eyes. _When will you get that I don't have a choice, Arthur?_ He sighed to himself. No matter what situation the man was in, it seemed, Arthur was always as stubborn as an ass.

Then again, so was Lord Britannia. He was mildly surprised when Lord Britannia had explained that he was not Arthur. That had given Matthew a sense of relief that settled beneath his compulsion. Arthur was not a traitor. That, at least, was a genuine cause for happiness. Matthew had been terrified that Arthur had gone insane or something. But no, his Arthur was the exact same that he had always been. Irritable. Stubborn. And in need of anger management.

"Matthew, are you even listening to me?"

_No, I haven't been. I tuned out your annoying driveling, like, an hour ago. Can you please just leave me alone? _He stuck another book on the shelf, trying to keep himself balanced on the ladder. He smiled, a brief sense of happiness filling him. Right, putting books on shelves made him happy. He wasn't unaware of the strangeness of that. Too bad he couldn't fight it. Too bad Arthur wouldn't fucking understand that! He quickly stuck another book back in place, immediately feeling content again. Well, at least that was one way to fight the annoyance that was Arthur Kirkland.

"Matthew!"

He faltered, dropping the books in his hands the same time his feet slipped off the ladder. The books beat him to the floor by less than a second. He braced himself for impact, his head slamming into the table a few feet in front of the shelves. He crumpled to the floor, crying out in pain. Arthur was suddenly there.

"Shit! Matthew! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" Arthur was panicking, his voice high.

Matthew cried out, holding his now bleeding head. Arthur stuttered. "Hold on. I'll grab the other me. I'll be right back."

Matthew breathed in deeply, his vision starting to blur. Great, now he was going to die from falling from a ladder while putting books back! What a way to go! Everyone else on this godforsaken planet would die in a blaze of glory! He would die from being a clumsy librarian! He groaned at the throbbing in his head. Vaguely, he heard the library doors slam open again, and suddenly two Arthurs were there.

"Damn it, Arthur! Didn't I tell you to leave the boy alone?" He tilted Matthew's head over, placing a bare hand on the weeping gash.

"None of this would've happened if you hadn't compelled him to be your slave!"

Matthew felt a familiar pulse of energy surge through his body, and he relaxed, recognizing it as healing magic. "That's it, boy. Just calm down for a few seconds." He turned back to Arthur. "Don't make me compel _you_! Just let him be from now on. I already told you I wasn't going to harm him."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Well, let it. Because if you keep going on like this, _you're_ going to kill him."

Arthur shut up, looking hurt. Lord Britannia pulled his hand away, grimacing at the amount of blood on it. "Can you sit up, Matthew?"

Matthew forced himself up, his head still swimming. "I'm okay. Really." He made to stand, but a wave of dizziness sent him tumbling back over. Lord Britannia caught him.

"You are not okay. I'm taking you back to your room. Rest until dinner."

Matthew parted his lips slightly. "Yes, Lord Britannia."

Arthur sputtered in the background, sickened by the display. Lord Britannia braced Matthew's unbalanced body against him and helped him up. He eyed Arthur with a frown. "Are you going to just stand there, Arthur? Weren't you the one that was so concerned with his safety?" Arthur seemed to break from a trance, and swept him under Matthew's other arm, helping him along.

When they finally arrived at Matthew's room, Lord Britannia told Arthur to go inform Alfred of the incident. Arthur begrudgingly retreated from the room, leaving Matthew alone with the other man. He disappeared into Matthew's bathroom before reappearing seconds later with a damp washcloth. Matthew turned his head to the side to give the man access. He gently dabbed the cloth against Matthew's blood-stained hair, cleaning away the quickly drying red. When he finished, he turned Matthew back over. Matthew was still dazed from the wound, and he stared back up at the man.

"Were you hurt anywhere else?"

Matthew mumbled. "Don't think so."

Lord Britannia sighed. "Perhaps I was too harsh on you the other day. I treated you like burden, didn't I?" He brushed a hair out of Matthew's eye. "I apologize for that. I must learn to control my temper better." He stroked Matthew's cheek. "I've been thinking about you for the entire day, and I've come to conclusion that you could be a hefty asset to me if I let you."

Matthew blinked, confused. What kind of asset could he be to this man? He lacked Al's immense strength. He certainly wasn't another Arthur. He was just the shy boy that usually blended into the background. He was a damn good sniper, but where would that come in handy when this man had all the power in the world?

"Is that what you think of yourself?" Lord Britannia eyed him with pity. "You sell yourself short." Matthew blushed as he realized the man had been listening to his thoughts. "Do not think of yourself that way. Not when you hide what you do inside of you."

"Hide?"

"I didn't expect you to know of it. I doubt even Arthur does. I sensed it when I healed you after Lucaster harmed you. Something that's been locked away your entire life."

"What is it?"

"A very peculiar kind of magic. Most magic is general. You can use it for many things. It has no identity of its own but what its owner gives it. But what I sense inside of you is something different. Something…_specific_. I am not sure at all what you can do with it, but I feel it may be related to your brother solely having great strength. A particular skill unique to you among nations. I have seen if before it other worlds. But for some reason, yours is dormant inside of you. I do not know why. But I am curious." He leaned in closer, hot breathe caressing Matthew's lips. "I can release it, Matthew, if you let me."

Something special and unique to him. Something potentially powerful. How long had Matthew craved something that was just that? The temptation was too strong. He couldn't resist it.

"Shall I unleash what's inside of you, Matthew?"

"Yes, Lord Britannia."

Lord Britannia kissed him, crashing their lips together. Magic rushed into Matthew's body, _through_ his body, and sank inside him, somewhere deeper than Matthew knew existed. His body went rigid as the energy slammed into something in that deep expanse, and Matthew screamed against Lord Britannia's lips. The _pressure_. It was too much. Too much! But Lord Britannia did not stop. He increased his efforts, the power battering at that inner wall again and again. Matthew felt like his bones were being compressed, like he was being ground into dust. Tears spilled from his eyes. But Lord Britannia did not stop.

His consciousness began to wane. He was dying. He knew it. This was going to kill him. He choked out a half-scream, half-sob. _Please stop! Please stop! Please stop!_

But Lord Britannia did not stop.

And then something broke.

* * *

**Dro:** I'm not saying anything until the next chapter except the preview.

**Next Chapter:** Britannia and Matthew go on an adventure!


	31. An Adventure in Wonderland I

**Dro: **Well, here's another chapter on a very somber day. Donate to Japan relief if you can guys! They need all the help they can get! On another note, I would like to say I only got two reviews for **The Road Not Taken** last chapter. If you can, please do review. I really appreciate it.

**Chapter Summary:** Matt and Britannia have an adventure.

**Warnings:** None.

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH.

* * *

Arthur was starting to get suspicious. He hadn't found a trace of his double this morning, and when he'd gone to see Matthew, the boy hadn't been in his bed. He was actively searching for either one, a mixed puddle of nervousness and ire swirling around in his stomach. He was already pissed enough that his double had had the audacity to compel Matthew into practically being his slave, but now the both of them had disappeared. He swore if that bastard had harmed Matthew in any way, he would beat the shit out of him with his own two hands. Or better yet, let Alfred do it.

Alfred was back on his feet now, roaming the hallways with the same mission as Arthur. He'd told Alfred earlier in the day that Matthew and his double were missing, and Alfred had immediately gone into action. There were a few people in Alfred's circle of loved ones that you just did not mess with. And one of them was Matthew. The last he's seen of Alfred, the man had told Arthur he'd be searching the west wing of the floor. That had been a hour ago. Now Arthur, who'd scoured the entire east wing and found nothing, searched for Alfred instead.

Unfortunately, he ran into Lucaster. The man looked rather apprehensive, and Arthur couldn't help but wonder what the hell was going on today. "Where's your boss?" He barked as Lucaster opened his mouth. The man sputtered.

"You mean you don't know either?"

Arthur was taken aback. "_You_ don't know where he is?"

Lucaster shook his head. "Siphone and I have been looking for him all morning. Not a trace. We suspect perhaps he's gone out on a mission of his own, but he usually tells us these things beforehand."

Arthur was floored. His double's own henchmen didn't know where he was? Now he was _really_ nervous. Where had his double gone, and where had he taken Matthew? "Arthur!" He twisted around to see Alfred jogging toward him. "Any luck?" Alfred eyed Lucaster with disdain. The man scowled back at him.

"No. Lucaster and Siphone don't know either."

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "Really now?"

"Yes, boy. Really. We've been searching the same as you." Lucaster crossed his arms, challenging Alfred to dare accuse him of lying. Thankfully, Alfred backed down. The last thing Arthur needed this morning was a fistfight.

"What about the other floors?" Arthur suggested.

Lucaster sighed. "Siphone ordered a ton of guards to search the lower decks and the control level. They found nothing. I suspect the boss isn't on the ship anymore."

"Then where would he be?" Alfred spat. "And where did he take my brother?"

Lucaster stiffened, his memory of Alfred's rage still plenty fresh in his mind, apparently. "I don't know. If I knew, would I be looking? The boss told us nothing about this."

Alfred looked ready to explode, and Arthur felt a new level of anxiety. Why was Alfred so short-tempered? That was _his_ personality description, not Alfred's. He eyed the ring on Alfred's finger, almost completely sure it had something to do with Alfred's emotional instability. Unfortunately, now really wasn't the time to confront him about it. "Is there anywhere else we haven't looked yet? Anywhere at all?"

Lucaster shrugged. "The roof level?"

"Fine. It's worth a shot. Let's go." He let Lucaster lead the way to the stairwell, Alfred boring holes in the man's back the entire way there. When they reached the rooftop entrance, Lucaster heaved the door open, a massive gust of air nearly blowing all three of them back. Lucaster trudged out first, followed by Arthur and Alfred. Arthur scrutinized every crevice. The roof was mostly flat, obviously meant to be a landing area for smaller aircraft. There were very few places where anyone could be hiding. Arthur sighed to himself, bracing himself against the wall as another gust of wind blew by. _Where are you, Matthew? What have you done to my loved ones now? Why do you keep doing things like this to me? What's your goal in all this?_

There was no answer.

Giving up, the three of them headed back down to their living level, Lucaster breaking off from them to go find Siphone. Arthur leaned against the wall, sighing. "Oh, Matthew…"

"He better be alright." Alfred's voice was hard, but his face was more vulnerable than Arthur thought he'd ever seen it before. Alfred was letting the worry get to him.

"Calm down. I'm sure they're together somewhere, and _he_ didn't seem to have any plans to hurt Matthew."

"Didn't seem, huh? Right, because that totally means he won't try anything." Alfred snapped.

"Alfred…please calm down. I know you care about Matthew, but you need to keep your head here. If you panic over things like this, you'll let him get the best of us."

Alfred sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just…on edge today. I still feel drained from losing control. I feel…_vulnerable _now. I'm afraid I'll lose it again and hurt someone." He ran a hand through his hair. "And now that I remember what happened at the base, I…It hurts Arthur. Remembering their faces. The way they all looked at me like I'd betrayed them. I really wanted to tell them the truth, but I couldn't bring myself to do it."

"You knew it would hurt from the beginning, Alfred."

"I know. But actually facing the pain is something else entirely." He slid down the wall until he sat listlessly on the floor. Arthur sat down next to him and gently rubbed his shoulder.

"Alfred, it'll be okay. We're in this together, remember? I'm here for you."

"I know, Arthur. I know. I just miss being with everyone else already. I missed being with you for the longest time. I kept thinking they'd be torturing you to death. It really freaked me out. And now I'm actually _more_ freaked out. Seeing the other you, seeing how possessive he is of you, watching you struggle with his memories. I'm _scared_, Arthur. I'm scared I'm going to lose you for good. And now I'm starting to get scared I'm losing myself. And then there's _Matt_…"

Arthur hugged him, his lips pressing into Alfred's hair as he whispered softly. "You won't lose me. No matter what, I'll always be here for you. I promise you that, Alfred. I will _never_ abandon you. I will _never_ leave you. Whether we're friends, lovers, family…it doesn't matter. I'll be here for you."

Alfred took a shaky breath and embraced Arthur in return, burying his face in Arthur's shoulder. "I love you, you know? I always have. First, as a father. Then a brother. Then a lover. Then a friend. But no matter what, I've always loved you."

"And I've always loved you the same."

Alfred relaxed in his arms. "Do you think Mattie's okay?"

He ran a hand through Alfred's soft hair. "I hope so, Alfred. I truly hope so."

* * *

"Well, that's just heartwarming, isn't it?" He eyed the embracing men on the other side of the hallway.

"Shut up." Matthew mumbled.

"Come on now, Matthew, are you honestly going to stay angry at me?" Arthur asked, twirling a lock of Matthew's hair. Matthew growled, pulling away from his touch.

"It's your fault we're like this." He glared at the man.

"It's _your_ power." Arthur countered.

"And if it wasn't for you, it'd still be dormant! But no, you just had to try and exploit me for your own gain. And now look what you've done!"

Arthur shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't act like we're trapped here forever. If you can shift us _into_ a different plane of existence, you can shift us back."

"Nice theory. Any bright ideas on _how_?"

Arthur shrugged. "It's your power. You tell me."

"You honestly think I know how to use it? I _just_ got the ability, and I'm still not even sure what it is!"

"Well, theoretically speaking, there are several planes of existence layered on top of one another. Where they are," he pointed to his other self and Alfred, "is one plane. Where we are now is another. Things on one plane cannot interact with things on another. Hence, why they can't see us or hear us and why we we're like ghosts and they pass right through us." He shuddered, remembering how Lucaster walked right _through_ him earlier. "Your ability is to somehow shift us between the planes."

"Right. So my ability is to basically make myself invisible! What do you know? I've been mimicking my true power all along!"

"Matthew, you don't honestly think you're invisible to other people, do you?"

"Most of them to ignore me."

"Arthur never ignored you."

"True, but he does confuse me with Al half the time."

"Well, you do look alike."

"Yes, I know. But we _act _nothing alike. You would think the man that _raised_ us would be able to tell the difference."

Arthur considered it. "Eh…you do have a good point there."

Matthew decided they need a change of subject. "How do we eat here?"

"We probably don't need to. We don't seem to have wholly tangible forms in this plane."

"Sleeping either?"

"Probably not."

Matthew groaned, banging his head against the wall. "Great. I'm stuck in a place with no food, no sleep, and no way to communicate with the outside world with _you _of all people!"

"What's wrong with me?" Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

"You're the evil overlord trying to destroy my planet! Not to mention you mind-fucked me into being your obedient slave!"

"Which seems to have worn off in this plane." Arthur scooted away from the enraged boy.

"Thank God for that."

"Was it really that bad?"

"You compelled to be happy while I was shelving books. I looked like a completely docile idiot with no mind of my own. It was humiliating."

"I'm sure you didn't think so at the time."

"Well, of course not! I couldn't think what I _wanted_ to at the time." Matthew huffed.

"Are you really that upset about it?"

"Yes!"

"Fine. I won't make you be happy anymore!"

"How about you release me from the compulsion?" He crossed his arms, glaring darkly at Arthur, who inched himself farther away.

"We'll see."

Matthew snorted. "Yeah right. You're just a lying ass."

"Alright. Let's make a deal. You get us back on our regular plane, I'll release you from the compulsion."

For a moment, Arthur thought Matthew would reject the deal, but the boy finally stuck out his hand. "Deal." They shook on it. "But I'm not sure how to do it."

"Well, most magic usually involves you concentrating on something. So, concentrate on shifting us back into the other plane?"

"I wonder if I could shift just me back and leave you here forever?" He mumbled thoughtfully.

"Hey! We have a deal, boy! Don't forget, you're still under my compulsion in the other plane. And you still will be if you go back alone despite my magic not working in this plane. So any orders I've already given you still stand. You'll be stuck doing those things forever."

Matthew blanched. "Fine." He unfurled his limbs and looked at the ceiling, closing his eyes. He wetted his lips, parting them slightly, and hummed softly. "So just think about shifting us back, right?"

"Right."

"Working on it."

And work he did. Matthew spent the next several hours concentrating on several different trains of thought to try and bring them back. All of them failed. If he'd known how he'd activated this stupid power in the first place, it would've helped. But he'd been in so much pain at the time, that he hadn't been able to think straight. One second, he felt like a dam was breaking inside of him. The next they were in this…_other_ _plane_ or whatever. And here they'd been all day.

It was bad enough having to watch Alfred and Arthur frantically search for him while he was standing _right there_ the entire time. It was even worse with Arthur's other self bugging him all day. He was a hefty combination of scared, angry, and humiliated, most of it aimed at the other Arthur, and he didn't want to speak to the man, let alone be trapped with him like this! But here they were still, leaning against the wall, unable to communicate with people they could hear and see but who couldn't even remotely sense their presences.

The only upside of this was that the other Arthur couldn't use magic here. This plane was "incompatible" with it or something. Immediately, he thought about just letting them stay here forever. If the other Arthur was _here_, he couldn't take over the world. But he'd scrapped that idea over and over as he realized he'd quickly go insane having to stay with this man forever. Matthew was known for being selfless, but he couldn't handle this level of it. Not to mention the man could probably still easily overpower and torture him until he agreed to try and get them back. He though it best to bypass all that hassle. One way or another, he would've ended up trying to get them back.

Unfortunately, trying and succeeding were two different things.

By the time the sun started to droop lower and lower in the sky, Matthew knew they were in trouble. He'd spent _hours_ trying to will them back to the right plane, and nothing had worked. He was starting to get nervous now. What if he really _was_ trapped here forever with the other Arthur? He banged his head against the wall again.

"Don't get frustrated." The man spoke for the first time in hours. "Just take a break and try again later. Certain magic skills take a long time to get a grasp on."

Sighing, Matthew took his advice. The pair of them sat there silently, gazing out of the large window. Alfred and his Arthur had retreated from the hallway a long time ago. Matthew felt a pang in his heart. Arthur and Alfred were hurting because of his absence. He _had_ to get back. If he didn't…He shook his head, not wanting to think about it. He jumped at the sound of fabric loudly shuffling in the silent hallway. The other Arthur had risen. Matthew watched him stretch and groan.

"I'm going for a walk. I'm getting too fidgety sitting down." He turned to Matthew, silently asking him to come along. Matthew almost declined, but the thought of being completely and utterly alone made him quickly rethink that idea. He stood up, his knees cracking from being in one position so long, and followed the other Arthur down the silent hallway.

Eventually, they ended up walking side by side, admiring the sunset in the distance. "It looks beautiful from this altitude." Matthew murmured.

"Hmm. It does, doesn't it?" The other Arthur replied.

Matthew swallowed, daring to ask the question that had been on his mind most of the day. "What if I can't get us back?"

"You can."

"What if I can't?"

"You _can_."

"But what if I _can't_?" He yelled, grabbing the Arthur's shoulder and forcing the man to face him. The man looked slightly taken aback.

"Calm down, Matthew."

"But…but what if…?" He was so frustrated. He clenched his shut, groaning.

He froze as a hand cupped his cheek, his eyes shooting open to reveal the other Arthur had gotten _really, really_ close. "Matthew…" he murmured softly, and Matthew felt his cheeks heat up. "You really need to calm down. Honestly, would it really be that much of a hell to be stuck here with me for eternity? I'm not a monster." He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across Matthew's lip. "Plus, if it does end up being just the two of alone forever, we could always…" His hand slipped into Matthew's hair, guiding his head forward until their lips were millimeters apart.

Something snapped inside Matthew.

He wrenched himself away from the other Arthur, yelling in rage as he raised his fist and finally, finally, _finally_ did something he'd been wanting to do the entire day.

He punched that bastard in the face.

* * *

**Dro:** Go, Matt, go!

**Next Chapter:** The adventure continues!


	32. An Adventure in Wonderland II

**Dro: **Yo! What's up? I have another chapter for you! And it's on time today! So, **review!** Then again, you'll probably want to yell at me anyway when you get to the end...

**Chapter Summary: **The adventure continues (and abruptly ends).

**Warnings:** Hm...

**Disclaimer: **Dro does not own APH. Like, totally not, as Poland would say.

* * *

"I still can't believe you did that."

Matthew snickered again.

"It really hurts, you know?"

Matthew put a hand over his mouth, hiding his grin.

Arthur shook his head, turning his now black eye away from the boy who could barely contain himself. Matthew was giddy. The other Arthur looked so funny like this, and Matthew felt a sense a pride that _he_ was the one to finally bring the man down a peg. Granted, he hadn't really been _thinking_ about that when he'd punched the man. He'd just been annoyed beyond belief that the bastard thought it was okay to joke about being stuck like this. Because, oh yes, they still were. Matthew _still_ hadn't figured out to make his supposed power work yet.

His mirth suddenly gone, Matthew looked back out into the night. What was he going to do if they were really stuck here? Sure, the world would win against Britannia, but…but he really _couldn't_ stay like this. Not forever. There _had_ to be something he was doing wrong with his power. Something. He thought long and hard. Maybe he was invoking the wrong feelings? His Arthur had mentioned something about using certain feelings to invoke certain spells, so maybe he needed to make himself feel a certain way. Obviously annoyed and angry wasn't the answer. Worried either. Of course, the hard part of that was actually making himself feel a certain way. Emotions didn't exactly come when you beckoned them.

He glanced at the Arthur beside him. The man was staring out the window, a thoughtful expression…no, not thoughtful. Something else. Was it…nostalgia? Yes, definitely that. What was he thinking about? Matthew found himself wondering that more and more. What would a man who'd invaded your planet from another dimension be thinking about? It was turning into something of a great mystery.

"Something you need?"

Matthew jumped at his voice. "Huh?"

Green eyes flicked over to him. "You were staring at me. Do you need something?"

Hiding his blush, Matthew shook his head. "No, I was just…" He drew his knees to his chest. "I was just wondering what you're thinking about."

"Ah," was his only reply for several seconds. Long after Matthew was convinced that the conversation was over, Arthur finally spoke again. His voice was soft. "My New Britain."

"Your…who was that? Another Alfred?" Britannia's world _was_ parallel, right? So logically, it must've contained the same people.

But Britannia shook his head. "No. Neither you or Alfred existed in my world. New Britain was…a cross of the both of you, I would say. He shared both you and Alfred's fair hair and bright eyes. His personality was…a mix of yours. He was rather shy in social situations, but he was incredibly headstrong and stubborn. He had immense strength like Alfred, but he was calm and contemplative like you."

Matthew listened intently, and with each word, he felt a rising sense of sorrow in Britannia's voice. Something caught his ears, something the man repeated over and over, and Matthew spoke before he could stop himself. "You talk about him in the past tense. Is…is he…?"

"He's dead." Arthur closed his eyes, clenching his lids shut tightly.

"I'm sorry." Matthew mumbled quickly.

"No. Don't be. It was a while ago. I mean, I haven't really gotten over it, but there's nothing I can do about it. Not anymore. I lost my chance to save him long ago."

Matthew bit his lip. "What…what happened?"

"The same that happened to the rest of my world. Nuclear war."

Matthew felt his heart drop. _Oh God. Don't tell me…_ "Your world was…"

"Destroyed. Two of the major powers went to war, it turned nuclear, and the next thing I knew, the world had been destroyed. When I left, I did so out of necessity. My people had been decimated. Those remaining no longer had a national identity. There were no countries anymore. There was no organization, no government, no civilization. People were back to being nomads, following the good weather and scraps of food across the land as nuclear winter sucked any remaining life out of the planet. I had two choices at that time: let myself fade away as my people lost their sense of being British, or…"

"Or go to a new world with new people." Matthew wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his face against his knees. This man had…Matthew couldn't even imagine going through something that like. Of all the threats of that exact scenario he'd had over the years, he still couldn't truly picture that end to his world. But this man, this Arthur had experienced it, and it had cost him everything.

"Hmm. Sometimes I wonder if I maybe I should've chosen the former. I can't help but think sometimes that my New Britain is waiting for me on the other side. But then I realized I can't stop myself. I'm restless now. Even with a massive empire that spans _dimensions_ under my control, I still can't let myself rest. I think it's because my empire doesn't touch my home world. I have no allegiances in the place I was born, in the place my soul is still attached to. I always feel like, deep down inside me somewhere, that infection of fading away is still there, still eating away at me. Maybe it is. Maybe no matter how much land I conquer, how many places I rule…maybe I'm just delaying the inevitable. Maybe it isn't possible to truly replace national allegiances in one world with those in another. Maybe I'm just deluding myself. And that thought, the idea that I'm still slowly crumbling away…it terrifies me…

"That's why I've so quickly become partial to this world. This place has given me an unprecedented opportunity that I intend to utilize fully. I can only hope it goes according to plan. If it fails, well, I honestly don't know what I'll do."

Matthew wanted to fall off the face of the Earth. This Arthur's story was sucking him in, corrupting his feelings, making him _pity_ the man that he should he hate. But he couldn't get away from it now. How could he _hate_ someone who had been through what this man had been through? Britannia obviously wasn't right in the head, but Matthew now knew that was no fault of his own. If Matthew had to sit by and watch his own world get destroyed, watch his country disintegrate, watch Alfred and his Arthur and _Ivan_ die…God, he would be crazy too. And Matthew hated himself for admitting that, but he really couldn't deny it anymore. He _pitied_ this Arthur. He _felt bad_ for this man. Even though he shouldn't have.

"What opportunity is that, exactly?"

Arthur shook his head. "That's probably something best left unmentioned. I have a feeling it's something you won't agree with."

"I see." Matthew looked at him, _really_ looked at him. Britannia's eyes held a thousand emotions that he'd so carefully hidden away before now. The mirth and arrogance and playfulness were nothing but masks to disguise the insurmountable pain and loneliness this man felt. Matthew cursed himself for being so observant. The longer he spent talking to this man, the more sympathetic he became, and he needed to stop himself before he fell into a trap he couldn't get out of. How would he fight against this man if he couldn't quell these feelings?

"So what about you, Matthew?"

Matthew broke from his inner turmoil. "What? What about me?"

"Well, I've told you some things about myself. How about you tell me about yourself?"

Matthew rested his head against the wall. "What don't you already know? I mean, you have all of Arthur's memories, right? That's what you told me."

"I do, but I'm sure there are some things even Arthur does not know. How about your relationship with Russia?"

Matthew stiffened, his cheeks flushing. "How do you…?"

"Sorry, I read your mind earlier."

Matthew pursed his lips, annoyed. "Fine. What about it?"

"How did you two get together? You make an odd pair."

Matthew shrugged. "Not really. We're both pretty far north. We have huge countries. We like the same sports. We both enjoy pretty simple things. Ivan is nice to talk to. We can have in depth debates or simple chats. We can talk about anything. No topic is off limits with him. He doesn't let anything, even talking about his past, get the best of him. Most people would probably think I'm weird, but I like being around him. He's not loud like Alfred or irritable like Arthur. He doesn't come on to me like Francis." He chuckled. "He can be a serious or as lighthearted as I want him to be. He's just…well, _I_ like him."

"Sounds like a pleasant relationship."

"It is." Matthew smiled softly. "You…you didn't hurt him too badly, did you?"

"Hmm? Oh, that." He remembered blasting the man against the wall. "No. I knocked the wind out of him. I might've bruised a couple ribs. Don't worry about major injuries though. That wasn't my intention. I just didn't want him to get in the way."

"Oh…okay."

Britannia hummed to himself. "Are you bored?"

"Yes." Matthew answered curtly.

"We should find something to do."

"How about get out of here?"

"Hmm…" He smirked. "That's your job, unfortunately."

Matthew groaned to himself, shifting his thoughts back into gear. He really needed to figure this damn power out. Maybe he could retrace his steps? How was he feeling at the time when he activated it? "In pain" was the obvious answer. Britannia had been beating at the walls somewhere inside of his soul, and it had been excruciating. Maybe pain activated his power? He hoped that wasn't the case, but it was worth a shot. He fidgeted for a few seconds, unsure of how to go about this. Finally, he got up his courage and turned to Arthur.

"Hurt me."

Arthur faltered. "What?"

"Hurt me. When I used the power the first time, I was in pain. So hurt me."

Green eyes went wide. "I don't think…"

"Anything is a possibility, right?"

"If I hurt you here, I can't heal you."

"You can heal me when we get out of this God-forsaken place. Just hurt me!"

Britannia looked at him with complete disbelief before shaking his head. "Fine. Where?"

Matthew thought quickly. "I don't know. Punch me in the gut or something."

A blond eyebrow went up. "Are you _sure_ you want me to do this?" They were both standing now, facing one another.

"I'm testing a theory here. If it doesn't work, then, well…we'll go from there. Just hit me and get it over with." He took a deep breath.

Arthur sighed. "As you wish."

A fist landed in Matthew's stomach, and he doubled over, gasping. Vaguely he remembered—as he fell to the ground—to try and will the pair of them back onto the right plane. Unfortunately, nothing happened, and Matthew kept falling until a pair of arms caught him a few inches from the floor. Arthur sat him down gently as he curled in on himself, trying to hold back his bile as he dry heaved. A hand gently rubbed his back as he gasped for several minutes, pressing his face into the floor.

"Sorry." Arthur mumbled.

Matthew groaned. "S'okay. I asked for it."

"I figured that probably wouldn't work. I get what you're trying to do though. Most magic is associated with feelings. You're trying to figure out if a certain feeling activated the shift, right?"

Matthew silently nodded.

"Right. Well, now that we've got the worst one of the way, we'll test a few less intense ones after you recover."

Matthew just murmured incoherently.

When he could finally sit up again, about ten more ideas had flickered through his head. There was one in particular he kept glazing over, but he couldn't help but come back to it over and over. Every time he did, he was more and more convinced he was heading in the right direction, but he refused to let himself even consider _that_ as an option. If only he could get _it_ out of his head.

"Still in pain?"

"Huh?"

"You were grimacing."

"Oh. No. I'm fine. Just thinking."

"What else were you feeling at the time?"

"Uh…well…" Matthew felt himself blushing.

"Hmm?"

"It's just…" _I'm not doing this. It's not going to happen. No way. No way in hell! Don't you even think about, Williams! _"Can I kiss you?" _Damn it!_

"Pardon me?" Matthew could swear he saw the man blush.

"I…it's just…when it happened, you were kissing me. I thought, maybe…" He turned his head away, completely embarrassed that he would even make such a suggestion.

"That's actually not a bad idea."

_Well, of course it's not to you. You have no problem making moves on me!_ He still hadn't forgotten about what happened at sunset.

"Lots of magic is triggered by pleasant emotions. I doubt it's kissing itself that does it. More likely, it'd be the emotions associated with it. But I doubt you know to conjure them up on your own. So, yes, why don't we try kissing?"

Matthew's face _burned_. "Um…okay." He untangled his limbs and turned to face the man, who was staring at him expectantly. There didn't _appear_ to be any other motives in his actions, but Matthew wasn't stupid enough to believe the man wasn't hiding any. Mumbling to himself and trying to hide his blush, he crawled closer to Arthur and leaned in.

"This is an awkward angle."

It was. Britannia was leaning against the wall, and Matthew was right next to it, having scooted over from his seat a few feet away. Neither could maneuver their faces properly. "Uh, well…"

"Here." A hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him forward, and the next thing Matthew knew, he was comfortably seated in the man's _lap._ Blushing furiously, he tried to stammer out a response, but lost his words when the man's hand cupped his cheek and guided him downward, sealing their lips together. Matthew was frozen for the seconds as Arthur's lips worked against his own. Then he started to melt into it, a haze from the man's expert kissing starting to overcome him. He kissed back, capturing Arthur's bottom lip between his and tugging on his gently. They parted for a brief second, and he felt himself drowning in those deep green pools before he met the man halfway for a hot, searing kiss. Matthew tangled his fingers in the man's hair, kissing him furiously. His tongue slid across the man's lips, and Arthur retaliated by plunging his own into Matthew's open mouth. Matthew groaned, fighting back furiously, but Arthur's tongue was more skilled than his own, and it dominated his mouth.

Then Arthur's mouth vanished from his own, only to reappear in a serious of light kisses that ran down his jaw and neck before latching onto the soft skin near the bridge of his neck and shoulder, biting gently as he sucked. Matthew moaned lowly, grasping hard at the man's blond locks. "Ah…A…_Arthur!"_ The man bit him hard. Matthew pressed harder against him, his face buried in Arthur's hair as he suppressed his moans. _Mon dieu, this is…this is…_

"What the hell is going on here?"

Matthew fell backward as he leapt off the man, his head smacking the floor. Cringing, he rolled over to face…his own Arthur, who was staring at the two of them in completely and utter disbelief. He gaped at the sight of his double's eye.

"And _what_ happened to your face?"

Matthew sat up, dazed, and looked at the other Arthur, who looked just as confused as he felt. At some point, Matthew had indeed shifted them back into the right plane…and unintentionally opened up a new can of worms in the form of his Arthur, who looked ready to explode at any second.

Britannia was the first to come back to his senses. "Oh, well, this awkward." He brushed his pants off as he rose, halfheartedly fixing his ruffled hair. "Ah, well, I've been gone long enough already, so I'll be heading to my office to get some work done." He was gone before either of them react.

_And oh,_ his voice flooded Matthew's mind, _you're released from your compulsion Matthew._

Well, that was good.

Now if only he could be released from Arthur's impending wrath.

* * *

**Dro:** Britannia, you're really getting to be kind of whore, you know? Of, you do? And there's a reason for it? Huh, really now?

**Next Chapter:** Matthew does damage control. Alfred ruins it all with an impromptu entrance. Then there's _more_ damage control.


	33. Epilogue to Wonderland

**Dro:** Hey, look, another chapter of World Powers! The story starts to really spiral out of control in the next few chapters, so stay tuned! And do **review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Alfred, Arthur, and Matthew had a very interesting discussion.

**Warnings:** None?

**Disclaimer:** Do I have to say it again? By Chapter 33, I expect you understand this by now...

* * *

"I'm going to kill him."

"Arthur, calm down!"

"I'm going to beat him bloody!"

"Arthur!"

"What?" Arthur stopped abruptly and whirled around to face him, nearly causing Matthew to run right into him. Arthur's face was red with rage and irritation. "What, Matthew? What can you possibly say to make me change my mind?"

"He _wasn't_ compelling me, for the last time! How long do I have to repeat it before you get it?"

"As long as you're on this God-forsaken ship under his control."

"I'm not under his control anymore."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that? No offense, Matthew, but he compelled you to obey him. Even if you don't realize it, you're probably covering for him. He no doubt ordered you to try and quell my anger. But it's not going to work!"

"Arthur, if he's compelling me, then where did he get the black eye?"

Arthur faltered. "Um…"

"I punched him, Arthur." Granted, Matthew had punched him in the magic-less other plane, but still. Arthur didn't need to know that.

"Well, that…it's probably just a ruse to fool me."

"Okay, now you're just seeing things that aren't there! Arthur, I'm back to normal."

"If you were really back to normal, then you wouldn't be defending him, Matthew. You're not stupid. Why would honestly care about his wellbeing?"

Matthew groaned. "I don't care about _his_ wellbeing. I care about yours! You're trying to barge in there and attack the man whose far too strong for you to make any sort of impact on. He can _crush_ you, Arthur. In an instant." He gently grasped Arthur's shoulders. "So just calm down. I'm _fine_. He didn't hurt me."

Arthur's eyes immediately honed in on his neck, and Matthew absentmindedly slapped a hand over the no doubt _massive_ mark Britannia had left there. He tried to stifle his blush as Arthur scowled. "Right. Like I'm buying that nonsense. I won't have that bastard treating you like a toy, Matthew."

"He wasn't! Did it look like he was forcing me?"

Arthur's eyebrows shot up, and Matthew cursed himself for saying something so incriminating. "What are you trying to say?"

"It…it wasn't…like that." How was he going to explain his new "power" to Arthur? It didn't even make sense to _him_. "Arthur, just listen…"

"Matthew, I don't know what he's said or done to you, but you need to clear your head. His presence…it _does_ things to you, I know. I understand, really. Something in his magic makes him like a magnet, and the longer you're with him, the stronger the pull becomes. But you need to keep your head. Don't let him get to you."

"For the last time, it's not like that! I'm not attracted to him!" Okay, that was a lie, but he was also attracted to his _own_ Arthur, so that really couldn't be helped. "Just listen to me. Okay, see, he did this thing that unlocked some kind of…ability in me…"

Arthur stiffened, eyes suddenly fierce. "He gave you magic?" The hostility in his voice almost scared Matthew to death.

"No…I…Apparently, I already had it. Some kind of unique ability, like Alfred's super strength."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "And?"

"And, well, it's weird. Apparently, I can like…_shift_ between _planes_ or something."

"What does that mean?" Arthur tapped his foot impatiently, glaring in the direction of his other self's office.

"You've been looking for us for over a day, right?"

Arthur nodded slowly, not seeing where this was going.

"Well, we were _here_ the whole time. You just couldn't see or hear us. We watched you guys search the entire ship. We like…out of _phase_ or something. I know it sounds like something straight out of sci-fi, but I swear to God, I'm not lying. We were stuck there because I couldn't figure out how I made the power work after he unlocked it. I did it by accident the first time."

Arthur looked skeptical, but at least he _tried_ to comprehend what Matthew was saying. "So, you have this…ability now?"

"I guess. I'm not sure how to use it when I want to. I'll have to…practice…some more." He couldn't stop himself from blushing.

Arthur looked suspicious. "And what does this 'practice' involve?" His eyes slid back to Matthew's neck.

"Well, see, supposedly, I can activate the power using pleasant emotions."

"Pleasant emotions." Arthur repeated. Matthew could just hear the accusations.

"Yeah."

"You mean like those you get from kissing?"

And he hit the nail on the head.

"Yeah." Matthew mumbled.

"Right. So let me get this straight. You were kissing him willingly to try and get back into this…_plane?_"

"Yeah…"

"You know how crazy this sounds, right?"

"Truth is sometimes crazier than fiction."

Arthur bit his lip, obviously not wholly convinced yet. Matthew was becoming frustrated. "Come on, Arthur. _You're_ the one who had magic in the first place. Surely this can't sound but so ludicrous?"

He huffed. "Fine. I believe you for now." He crossed his arms. "But I'm still suspicious of him, and I still think he's compelling you."

"_Arthur…_I _punched_ him. He has a black eye!"

"For all I know, he did that to trick me. Plus, it still looked like he was taking advantage of you. I'm not sure I entirely buy this whole 'necessary kissing' story. If you really do have this skill, he probably knows all about it. He was probably just tricking you the entire time."

"If he was trying to trick me, then why couldn't he use magic?"

Arthur's mouth hung open. "He couldn't…he couldn't _what?_"

"In the other plane, there's no magic. He had no power of compulsion over me. He had nothing. He was disconnected from it."

Arthur stared in disbelief, trying to process this new information. Finally, he said, exasperated, "Then why didn't you _leave_ him there?"

"Because, for starters, I couldn't get back without him because I didn't—and still don't—know how to properly use my new power without resorting to extremes. Secondly, I was under his compulsion at that time. If I had gone back and left him there, I would've been stuck doing everything he'd already ordered to me do. His magic was still present here even if it wasn't there. I would've been trapped 'shelving books and being happy about it' until I decided to go get him and bring him back."

"Oh…I see…are you _sure_ you're not under his compulsion still?"

"Arthur, what is it going to take for you believe me?"

"Um, well, I don't…"

Matthew clenched his fists, trying to contain himself. It was usually hard for him to get this frustrated, but Arthur sure was good at it. Partially, it was become he had the same face as the other Arthur, who he was still annoyed at. But then again, Arthur was good at being aggravating on his own. "You know what? Why don't I just show you?" He honestly didn't want to back _there_ (or kiss Arthur, but that was beside the point), but he couldn't have the other distrusting him. Arthur, Al, and himself needed to get along and trust each other if they were to have any chance of overcoming Britannia.

"Show me…" Arthur backed up slightly.

"Oh no, you don't!" Matthew grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a sudden kiss. Arthur froze against his lips, but it was enough. Matthew _felt_ it this time, the dull tickle of power that surged through him as the world shifted around them. He tried his best to associate it with what he was feeling, hoping he could learn to avoid resorting to _this_ every time. That would be the most awkward power ever.

Arthur suddenly pulled away from him. "What are you _doing_, Matt—?" He cut himself off, looking around, eyes wide.

"What did you do?"

"I shifted us. Why?"

"I can't…feel my magic." A look of awe came over his features. "My God, you were telling the truth."

"Told you."

"I can't believe this. How is it possible?"

"I don't know. I just got this power _yesterday_. I don't have it all figured out yet. I need more time to work out all the kinks." He mumbled as an afterthought, "Like the kissing thing."

"So no one can see us now?"

"Or hear us or touch us."

"So, we're like ghosts basically."

"Pretty much."

"And you were here with _him_ for thirty two hours? How did you stand it?"

"I punched him, remember?"

A sly smile tugged at Arthur's lips. "That's my boy."

"Arthur?"

They both whipped around, spotting Alfred marching down the corridor, worry written into his blue eyes.

"Arthur? Damn, where did he go?" He trudged right up to and _through_ a stunned Arthur before the man could react. Arthur paled considerably.

"That was…_bloody hell_." He whispered.

"Yeah. That happens a lot for some reason."

"Take us back."

"Um, sure." He paused. "_If_ you'll stop hassling me." He added as Alfred disappeared around the corner.

"Alright! Fine! I believe you."

"About this _and_ not being compelled anymore?"

Arthur looked like he was fighting with himself. He gave in. "Fine. That too."

"So you trust me now?"

He nodded sullenly. "Yes, I trust you Matthew." He sounded as sincere anyone named Arthur Kirkland, Great Britain could sound sincere, so Matthew finally let him off the hook.

"Good. So, are you up for kissing me again?"

Arthur coughed, blushing. "Must you?"

"Well, that, or we could be stuck here for another day and a half while I figure out how to get my emotions to work the way I want them to."

"Kissing, it is!" Arthur leaned in, cupping Matthew's cheek gently. Just before their lips met, he paused. "Matthew…are you truly alright?"

Matthew didn't waver. "We're in the den of the most dangerous kind of monster in the world. None of us are truly alright, Arthur."

A forlorn smile cross Arthur's face. "I suppose you're right."

Their lips met in a chaste kiss. Matthew felt the key slide back into the lock. He could sense the shift now, feel the vibrations that hummed around him as his body slide back into the right plane. He could learn to control this. And he would.

"…Oh."

They broke apart, both pairs of eyes shooting to Alfred, who stood at the end of the hall, hurt plainly visible in his eyes.

"Alfred. I…" Arthur's reddened face stuttered to find a an excuse. "I found Matthew!" He finished lamely.

Alfred didn't look relieved whatsoever. "I got that much." He muttered, his eyes lingering on Matthew's neck.

Matthew seethed silently, his hand landing on his neck. _I should give that motherfucker a matching eye! _

"Alfred, it isn't like that…" Arthur tried to explain, but Alfred, in typical Alfred-fashion, cut him off.

"It's fine if you're dating Matt, Arthur. I just kind of wish you'd told me."

"_No!"_ They both yelled, startling Alfred.

"We're not dating!" Arthur stammered out. "Alfred, I swear there is a logical explanation for this."

A blond eyebrow went up slowly. "Being in love with Matt isn't logical?"

Matthew face _burned_. "Al, please, I've told you before I don't like Arthur that way."

"Then why were you two in the hallway making out?"

"Uh, we weren't…" He cut himself off. He couldn't tell _Al_ that the _other Arthur_ had given a hickey. That would _not_ go over well. "Ah, well…fine, you caught us."

Arthur gaped at him, and Matthew sent him a quick, terrifying glare, at which point Arthur finally got it. "Ah, Alfred, you see, that's…"

"I'm fine with it."

"Y-you are?" Arthur asked. He'd been sure that Alfred would be incredibly upset to see his former lover in any sort of romantic situation with his _brother_. Alfred was fiercely protective of his loved ones. Anytime he found a _hint_ of someone being taken advantage of, he'd immediately intercede. Either he was doing a damn good job at hiding his feelings, or Alfred's head was much more screwed up than Arthur had originally thought.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Alfred looked legitimately confused.

If they could've read each other's minds, Arthur and Matthew would've found themselves thinking eerily similar things. _What happened to his overwhelming selfishness?_ Arthur picked up the conversation first. "I just thought…I'm sorry. It was stupid."

Alfred shrugged. "No, I think I get it. But you don't have to hide it from me. The _other_ you on the other hand…" Alfred cringed, and Arthur's mind suddenly flashed with the over hostility his double had displayed at the hint of affection between him and Alfred. "I think it would be best if you kept that a secret from _him._"

Matthew sent them both questioning looks, but Arthur waved him off, signaling he'd tell Matthew all about it later. Mostly because he was honestly failing at figuring out a way to tell the boy his other self had a _thing_ for him in any non-creepy way. Then again, it _was_ creepy, so maybe he just should've gone for it.

"Well now, what's everyone doing standing in the hallway?"

They all froze at the sound of the man's voice. Alfred paled slightly, Arthur noticed before turning around with Matthew. His double stood a few feet away, obviously having teleported there. His eye was still darkly bruised, but he looked a lot less flustered than he had the last time Arthur had seen him. He was smiling at them, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"We were just…chatting." Arthur managed to get out.

"I can see that." He replied, smiling deceptively. He suddenly clapped, and Arthur jumped at the loud sound in the silent hallway. "Well, now, how about dinner everyone? It's nearly that time, right?"

"Is it?" Arthur muttered, trying to make a counter.

"It is." His double just _wouldn't stop smiling_. It was giving him chills. "And I have an important announcement I'd like to make there, so why don't we all head to the large dining room down the hall? Lucaster and Siphone are already there waiting for us." He swept past them without another word, disappearing around the corner.

"Holy crap." Matthew mumbled.

"My sentiments exactly."

"Uh, guys, am I the only one getting an ominous feeling?"

"Unfortunately, no." Matthew replied to his bewildered brother. A deep shudder ran through his spine. Something in Britannia's demeanor seemed really _out of tune_ somehow, and it reflected in Matthew's soul like a creeping and all-consuming cold.

"I'm getting the feeling we really don't have a choice in this whole dinner matter, huh?" Alfred swallowed loudly.

"At this point, it would probably be best not to tempt fate."

"Then let's get going."

None of them moved.

"You first, Arthur!" Alfred laughed nervously.

"Why? Because I'm the one he's least likely to viciously murder?" Arthur retorted, but it lacked his usual irritation.

"Yeah. Exactly." Alfred said quickly.

Matthew was more than surprised to watch Arthur actually go along with Alfred's decision and step ahead of them, turning the corner cautiously. He glanced back to them and ushered for them to follow him down the hall.

"Al, what do you think we're going to find out in there?"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders, frowning. "No idea. But as close as we are to stepping over the cliff to hell, I can't help but imagine it's that one last push."

* * *

**Dro:** America: a chapter of stupidity and misunderstandings followed by a insightful observation.

**Next Chapter:** Tonight, they dine in hell! (I couldn't resist...)


	34. Fun Family Dinner From Hell

**Dro: **In case you're out of the loop, FF's story editor has been down for three days. And I JUST found a workaround, so hopefully, I can keep posting until they fix it for good. -crosses fingers- Anyway, enjoy and review. I've been freaking out trying to find a way to post updates for like...three days now.

**Chapter Summary: **Tonight, we dine in hell! (I still can't stop chuckling about how perfectly that fits here...)

**Warnings:** Language

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I am poor, and thus, haven't the money to purchase the rights to APH.

* * *

The dining room was deathly silent. Siphone and Lucaster sat rigid in their chairs, eyes nervously darting back and forth from the people standing in the doorway to their boss, who was staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Arthur stood protectively in front of Matthew and Alfred. He didn't think the man would actually harm either of them, but he didn't want to take any chances. His double said nothing as they entered, shuffling slowly toward the table in the center of the large room. The table itself, however, was small, and there was only just enough chairs for all of them. Two people would end up sitting next to _him_ seeing as Lucaster and Siphone had taken the chairs on the opposite end. Arthur volunteered himself as one of the victims, and he somehow wished he could prevent either of his boys from ending up the other.

As he sat down, the chair grating against the floor and sharply disturbing the still silence, Arthur also noticed that his double's black eye was no more. Sometime in the five minutes it had taken them to arrive, he'd healed himself. Arthur swallowed nervously. The other him still hadn't acknowledged their presence. Eventually, much to Alfred's chagrin and against his whispered protests, Matthew volunteered to sit on the other side of Arthur's double. Arthur cringed inwardly. Matthew was too selfless. He was going to get hurt in this place.

That thought only intensified his fears over Matthew's new ability. He knew his double would use every opportunity to exploit Matthew now, whether he decided to keep compelling the boy or not. Matthew was in a lot danger, more than he'd been in as a mindless slave of compulsion. Arthur had been enraged at seeing Matthew in that state. But now he was _terrified_. Matthew, on the other hand, kept his calm. Alfred found himself somewhere in between those two states, constantly fidgeting at the tense silence and possibilities that abounded for the other Arthur's impromptu dinner meeting.

A clap startled the entire room. Arthur's double finally looked away from the ceiling, his eyes quickly cataloguing everyone in the room. "Well, now that we're all here, let's get dinner started!" He beamed an obviously fake smile at them. A rush of servants suddenly filled the room, each carrying several plates of food. Arthur watched them mill about, sincerely wondering how many of them were here of their own will and how many had been compelled into this state. With the liberal way his double seemed to compel, he imagined the answer was sickening. He had no appetite despite the delicious-looking food that sat in front of him, and the smell actually made him nauseas.

"I suppose we can get to business at any time, so why don't we all just start enjoying the food?"

Lucaster and Siphone immediately started eating, though it was obviously they were only following a not so subtle order. Alfred munched on a biscuit, though he seemed to find it tasteless, and Matthew took miniscule bites, pushing most of his food around his plate. Arthur ended up pushing his plate away from him as a wave of nausea battered at his stomach. He put a hand over his mouth.

"Arthur?" His double asked innocently. "Something wrong?"

Arthur pushed his chair back suddenly, the wooden grating loudly against the floor, and stood up, rushing from the room. He heard three separate calls of "Arthur!" but he didn't turn back. He sped down the hallway, turning the corner, an overwhelming wave of nausea doubling him over. He dry heaved, mind reeling from his seemingly instant sickness that had no logical origin. _What's wrong with me?_ He hadn't been sick earlier, right? No, he was sure he hadn't. This had _just_ happened when he'd sat down for dinner._ What's going on? What's he done now? Poison? No. Magic? God, I don't know! Just make it stop!_

"Arthur!" His double appeared from nowhere, pulling him gently back into a sitting position. Arthur, despite the fact he was still furious at the man, pressed his face into his double's shoulder, gasping in air. "Are you feeling sick?"

Arthur nodded against his shoulder, gripping the man's arms tightly as another wave of nausea hit him. He whimpered. "Make it stop. Make it stop. Please." He begged, humiliated at his weakness. He'd never felt _anything_ like this before. It was intense, and he couldn't imagine why he hadn't purged his stomach a hundred times over already.

"Arthur, look at me." He double helped him sit straight up, and their eyes met. The man caressed hit cheeks gently. "You're going to be okay. I promise. It'll pass."

"_What_ is it?"

His double said nothing.

"It _is_ something you did, isn't it?"

"It's a side effect of the memory exchange."

"Why? What does…_this_ have to do with memories?"

The man's gaze softened. "I can't tell you yet. You'll understand when the time comes, but until then, I'm afraid I'll have to leave you in the dark. I can tell you it will pass quickly though. Shouldn't be too much longer."

"You're a fucking bastard, you know that?" He panted.

His double smiled sadly. "I am aware."

"So, you agree with me now, huh?"

The man chuckled. "I have always know that, at times, I tend to be kind of a dick when it comes to getting what I want."

"That's an understatement."

"I can help you through it if you want."

"Huh?"

He had no other chance to question the man as his lips were overwhelmed. He double's kiss sparked that rush of intense completeness that surged through his veins, drowning out the nausea. Just this once, Arthur willingly let himself get lost in it. _Anything _to stop the sickness from overtaking him again. He clung desperately to his double's sleeves as their tongues met, and Arthur pressed eagerly against the man, their bodies flush against each other's. His double's fingers ran gently through his hair, softly massaging his scalp, silently comforting him. When they finally broke apart, the completeness having sufficiently dulled his mind, Arthur realized the nausea had dissipated.

He let himself rest against his double's chest, gulping in deep breaths as his pulse started to slow. His double traced circles on his back, gently prodding his kin. "Feeling better?" He whispered. Arthur nodded silently. "I'm glad." And he truly sounded like he was. Arthur often found himself wondering how much of the man's affection was genuine and how much was manufactured. He hadn't come to any real conclusions, however. Despite being a carbon copy of himself, the other man was hard to read.

"Do you feel well enough to return to dinner?"

Arthur groaned and started to attempt to stand. His double guided back him up. "I…suppose."

The man smiled. "Good." He grasped Arthur's hand, tugging him along down the hallway. Arthur followed behind him without protest. He didn't have the energy left. He was exhausted now. They sauntered back down the hallway toward the dining room, his double looking much calmer and relaxed than he had been a few minutes before. Arthur hoped that was a good sign. He'd been truly afraid there for a few moments that the man was out to get them.

His double pulled him back into the large room, the hushed conversation that was going on immediately stopping. Matthew gazed at them with wide eyes that lingered on their linked hands. Normally, Arthur would've yanked himself away from the man at this point, but he didn't feel like fighting anymore today. Maybe he would yell at his double tomorrow.

"Arthur?" Alfred questioned. Nervous blue eyes met his own, and Arthur finally snapped back to reality.

"Oh, what?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He murmured softly.

If he'd had any energy left, Arthur probably would've tried his best to quell the immense fear in Alfred's eyes, but he let himself ignore it in favor of allowing his double to drag him back to his seat at the table. He plopped down onto it lazily, slouching in his seat. Matthew, eyebrows furrowed, was looking at him worriedly, and Alfred's scared eyes were glued to him. Shaking his head, he glanced back down at his plate. Suddenly, he realized, he was very hungry. He grabbed a fork and starting shoveling food in.

"Oh, do you have your appetite back?" His double asked cheerily, the odd man out in a group of severely depressed-looking people, each harboring suspicions and doubts and fears on several different levels.

"Mhmm." Arthur replied with a mouthful food. He was voracious now. Where had this suddenly come from? Another stupid effect of the memory exchange? _Whatever. As long as it's not pain and sickness, I don't give a shit by this point._

"Good!" The man patted him on the back and started eating his own food. Matthew and Alfred seemed to be frozen in place, unsure of how to react to the sudden shift in Arthur's actions. Alfred had his suspicions of what had gone down, but Matthew was completely clueless. Eventually, they all settled into dense half-silence of plates and silverware clinking, everyone in the rooming occasionally throwing glances and glares at someone else.

Matthew stared at Alfred intently. His brother knew something he didn't. He could clearly read the hint of understanding in Alfred's face that appeared whenever he happened to look at Arthur. Matthew was determined to figure out what was going on that he was oblivious to. He would wring it out of Alfred later, he knew. His brother was terrible at keeping secrets. For now, he tried to keep himself content by observing the way Arthur acted around his other self. Something really _weird_ was going on between them. He wasn't sure what the nature of it was, but like most things in this place, he felt he could safely assume it was something dangerous.

"Well, now that we've all calmed down, I have an important announcement to make."

Matthew stiffened at the man's words. This was what he had been dreading from the beginning. He was deathly afraid the man was going to say something that involved harming everyone on the ground, and as soon as Britannia opened his mouth to speak, Matthew instantly knew his worst fears were being confirmed.

"I think it's time we got around to exterminating the other nations."

Alfred sputtered, his face going pale. "_What?_" He yelled.

"Well, now that I've gotten all the problems out of the way," he not-so-subtly glanced at Matthew, "it's pointless to keep them around. They're only nuisances, and their feeble resistance forces are quite irritating to look at. Plus, it's better to do this sooner than later. If we complete our takeover, they might split and flee and hide, and then that will create additional hassle. I don't feel like spending a year smoking them out of their hiding places. So, while I know they're all in one place, let's just get rid of them now."

No one could muster a reply. Arthur stared at his double in disbelief. It wasn't that he was surprised to hear this come out of the man's mouth. He'd always know that _had_ to be part of the other man's plan. But…but he'd thought he have more _time_. More time to think of a solution. More time to figure out a way to defeat the man before it came to this. Now they were screwed. They weren't going to dissuade him. Arthur could see the inevitability of the entire scenario. His double _would_ go after the others. Soon. _Shit. Shit. I really messed up._

_Don't be so hard on yourself, Arthur. It wasn't like I did this just to thwart you. _

_I know that, you fool. But these are my friends you're talking about! People who are important to me! You speak of them like they're insects! Surely, my memories—_

_Your memories threaten to make me partial toward them all the time, Arthur, but I refuse to let them stop me. This is part of my plan, and I will carry it out. I will take over this world, no matter how much you complain about it, no matter what your friends on the ground try, no matter what Alfred and Matthew come up with. I will win. And this is a necessary step toward that goal. _

_Fuck you. Fuck you, you god-damned—_

His double's hand shot out and grabbed his chin, forcing him into a rough kiss. Matthew choked on his water, his eyes widening as he gasped for air. Arthur pulled away, and thankfully, his double let go. Their eyes met for a brief moment, determination and arrogance teeming in the other man's eyes. Arthur felt a sense of hopelessness grip him. They weren't going to be able to stop him before he attempted to carry this plan out. They didn't have the time or the manpower to do so.

"I hope you're not expecting me to help you." Alfred sneered.

Arthur's double smirked. "Are you sure you don't want to? You were quite enthusiastic about destroying their other base."

Alfred's chair toppled to the floor. "Fuck you!" Alfred slammed his hands on the table, cracking the wood. "You don't know anything! I would never _kill_ them. You said I would willingly join you eventually. And you are _dead_ wrong. Any minute chance there ever was of that—if there was _ever_ a chance to begin with—disappeared a long time ago. I would never help you kill my allies. Never." He growled.

Arthur's double didn't look the least bit perturbed. He shrugged. "Whatever you say. But, I'd like to warn you that you're severely underestimating my capability for persuasion."

"I don't care how hard you try or what you do to me. I would _never_ betray them like that."

"Are you sure, Alfred?"

That single question seemed to shatter every piece of Alfred's resolve, and Arthur saw exactly what his double's game was. Doubt. He was planting doubt in Alfred's head. And it worked. Alfred looked taken aback, but at the same time, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He was questioning himself now, cracks forming in his surety over his own motives and desires, the perfect openings for his double to plant even more dangerous ideas in Alfred's mind.

He needed to stop this before it got any further.

He sent a lucid glare at Matthew, who immediately met his eyes and nodded, understanding. The boy pushed his chair back and whipped around the table, grabbing Alfred by the arms and whispering softly in his ear. He lead Alfred toward the door, coaxing him out.

"I don't recall was saying dinner was over." His double tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. Matthew faltered for a second before stiffening his shoulders in defiance and ushering Alfred down the hallway, slamming the door behind him. His double made to rise, his eyes narrowed and dangerous, and Arthur rose with him, grasping his shoulder and pulling the man into a searing kiss.

He pulled back, meeting his double's surprised eyes, the annoyance draining from them as he was overwhelmed by a myriad of other emotions. "Dinner is over." Arthur whispered, his lips brushing against his double's.

His double held up a hand and shooed away Siphone and Lucaster, who seemed to be at a complete loss. "Dinner is over." He echoed. When Siphone and Lucaster didn't move, he growled at them. "That means leave."

They were gone before Arthur could blink. Then his double was on him.

* * *

**Dro: **Well, that was certainly a nice dinner...

**Next Chapter: **Matthew starts to break down as he finally gets a good look at just how far Arthur and Alfred have fallen into Britannia's web.


	35. Prologue to Revelations

**Dro: **Please don't kill me for this chapter. I know I have a lot of cliffhangers, but seriously, they're all necessary. So, please, don't kill for where this one ends. But do **review.**

**Chapter Summary:** Matthew suffers a breakdown after realizing just what's happening to Alfred and Arthur.

**Warnings:** Uh...Gee, I can't really warn you without giving away the whole chapter. I'll just go with Violence and Language then.

**Disclaimer: **My situation has not changed. I am still too poor to purchase the rights to APH.

* * *

"Just calm down, Alfred." Gentle hands slid up his chest, deftly unbuttoning each clasp along the way. The hands parted ways at his collar, tugging the coat from his shoulders. The White fabric landed somewhere on the floor, but Alfred couldn't care less. His shoulders were tense, his mind wracked with anger and confusion. Sighing, Matthew repeated the process, pulling Alfred's shirt free from his waistband and undoing the buttons. When his brother was bare-chested, Matthew wrapped his arms around the older man's torso, holding him close. He pulled away slowly, guiding his hands to the back of Alfred's shoulders, where he massaged softly. "Don't let him get to you. You just need to keep your head."

Alfred let out a deep breath. "Matt. I…I don't know what's happening to me. I've been so irritable lately. I…I feel like I'm losing control of myself."

"It's him, you know? He's the one doing it. Just remember that whenever you ever feel angry. It's something he's done to you."

"But _what_ has he done to me? And what if it can't be reversed? What I keep deteriorating until I'm some ruthless…._killer_."

"You won't, Al. I'll make sure of it."

Alfred chuckled dryly. "Since when are you the hero, Matt? That's my job, remember?"

Matthew smiled, letting his head rest on Alfred's shoulder. "Sure you are. But even a hero needs another hero sometimes. Don't you read the comic books?"

Alfred tried his hardest to suppress a smile. It didn't work. "Thanks Matt."

"Any time."

They fell back on the bed together, laying side by side and both staring at the ceiling, pondering their fate aboard this flying death trap with its warped atmosphere and secret manipulations.

"What if I do it?"

"What?" Matthew turned toward him, confused. "Do what?"

"Kill them."

Matthew was left speechless for several seconds. "What…what do you mean, Al? You'd never kill any of them. You care about them. They're you friends." He swallowed nervously. "You could never do that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure. Without a doubt." He sat up and tilted Alfred's toward him until they made eye contact. "You're not a murderer, Alfred, and you're definitely not a traitor. Whatever Britannia has done to your mind, it doesn't reflect anything you actually want." Matthew's eyes drifted to the ring on Alfred's finger. "Maybe you should take that off for a while." He waited anxiously to see Alfred's reaction.

Alfred glanced at his finger as he raised his hand into the air. He twisted the ring around on his finger. "Maybe you're right. But I'm afraid I'll be too weak without it."

"Al, you have natural super strength. You don't need a magic ring to make you strong."

"I know that, but everyone else here has lots of powers. Without magic, I pale in comparison."

He was coming up with every excuse he could find, and Matthew sincerely doubted he was doing it of his own volition. Still, he tried to reason with his brother. "Alfred. Think about it. Britannia is using the ring to manipulate your mind. It's the reason you're feeling like this. It's the reason you're doubting yourself. It's the reason you're…well, _are_ you having…uh…urges?"

"Urges? For what?"

A brief sense of relief flooded Matthew's veins. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"No. I know what you meant, Matt. You want to know if I've been having urges to obey his will?"

Matthew stiffened but didn't say anything.

"You want the truth?"

No. Not really. Matthew was terrified of the truth. "Al…"

"Do you want to _know_, Matt?"

No. No. No. "Yes."

"I have. I have since the moment I stepped aboard the ship. Since _before_ I got the ring. And they just keep getting worse and worse and worse. Every time he speaks, I feel pulled in by his voice. I feel like I'm falling Matt, falling farther and farther into a pit I can't escape from. And I don't know how to stop it. I don't even know _why_ I feel this way. It doesn't feel like his compulsion. It's…It's something else."

Something else. That deep sense of creeping cold started inching up his spine again.

"_His presence…it does things to you, I know. I understand, really. Something in his magic makes him like a magnet, and the longer you're with him, the stronger the pull becomes."_

Arthur had told him that earlier. And now he was watching it unfold in front of him. It was like Britannia's presence could _infect_ you like a disease that spread slowly through your body until you were completely and utterly consumed. Alfred was fighting it, Matthew could tell. He was fighting with what had become a darker part of himself, a part that was slowly encroaching upon his mind, warping his thoughts and feelings. Matthew could see the signs of it in Arthur too. Arthur. Arthur, who Britannia had _kissed._

He suddenly felt the urge to ask, "Why did Britannia kiss Arthur?" A dual purpose. Maybe if managed to change the subject, he could jar Alfred out of this state.

Alfred pursed his lips. "They're together. Sort of."

"_What?_" Matthew gaped. Arthur was together with…Arthur? That didn't…What was this…Holy crap. That was _weird_.

"Yeah. Arthur tries to deny it, but I can see he's lying. At least partially. I don't think he _wants_ to have feelings for the other him, but I don't think he can help it. You know they exchanged memories, right?"

Matthew nodded numbly.

"Well, apparently, as a side effect, it also kind of pulls them toward each other. Mentally and emotionally. I don't think either of them can help it now that I think about it. I doubt the other Arthur even planned for that to happen."

"So, _why_ did they exchange memories in the first place?"

Alfred shook his head, throwing an arm over his eyes. "That's the big mystery. The other Arthur won't say. Apparently it has something to with his master plan."

"Of course it does." Matthew wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. Why was it so cold in here? He glanced back at Alfred, who was frowning deeply, still obviously fighting with his own mind. The dread continued to creep further upward toward the base of his neck, slinking closer and closer toward his brain.

Or maybe that was just the infection.

Matthew bit back tears. They were going to lose at this rate. He was going to turn them all into his puppets. How long would it be before he started losing himself too? Alfred had only been here a matter of _days_. If it happened this quickly, then how far gone was Arthur? Matthew let himself fall lifeless back on Alfred's bed, his eyes clenched shut, burning with tears. _Ivan, I wish you could hear me. I wish you could hold me. I can't drive this cold away without you here. I need you. I'm afraid. I'm so afraid. _

That was the only thought in his mind until he fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

Arthur groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He was comfortable like this, a soft blanket thrown over him, a warm body…Oh no. He pressed his face into the pillow, images of deep tongue kisses and sharp love bites flashing past his eyes. Thankfully, his pants were still on, and so were his double's, but that failed to make him better considering he'd basically let the man ravish him last night. What had he been thinking, initiating a make out session with the bastard to distract him? Had he gone senile?

He stiffened as the chest against his back shifted slightly, his double's arm tightening its hold on him. He sighed. Great, this was just what he needed to start his day. If he tried to escape, he'd wake his double up, and the onslaught of teasing and advances would begin. He wondered if he could teleport without waking the man up. Probably not, but at least it would assure his escape. He willed himself to the bathroom doorway, sneaking a glance back at his double, who was still somehow dozing away. _Thank God for that._

He flicked on the bathroom light and closed the door behind him, turning toward the mirror. He immediately cringed, his cheeks flushing. And he'd thought Matthew had had it bad. He was too embarrassed to keep counting the marks after _five_. How the hell was he going to hide all of those? His double better damn well have healed him before he left this room. As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door. He whipped it open, glaring at the other man, who raised his eyebrows before he cracked a grin, eyes landing on Arthur's neck and collarbones.

"Good morning."

"For you, maybe. You're not the one sporting _hickeys_."

"Are you honestly that upset? You certainly weren't when you were getting them."

Arthur blushed furiously. "That is…irrelevant! Heal them. Now!"

His double snorted. "Why are you getting so worked up over a few love bites, Arthur? It's not like I ripped off your arm."

"No, but it's a hell of a lot more embarrassing."

"Embarrassing? How so? Are you embarrassed to have others know about our relationship?"

Arthur deadpanned. "Really? What kind of bloody question is that? Of course I'm embarrassed. I have make out sessions with _myself_ because _you_ did something to _me_. Alfred is already freaked out enough, and I can't imagine what Matthew must be thinking after last night." He crossed his arms, frowning.

His double actually looked hurt. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I'll heal them if you want me to."

Arthur was taken aback. Where had this come from? What game was the man playing? He wasn't usually so pliant. "Oh, well, go ahead."

And _there_ was the devious grin. "On one condition."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Bathe with me."

* * *

Matthew marched purposefully down the hallway. He'd left a fitfully sleeping Alfred a few minutes ago, deciding on a whim to try and weasel answers of out Britannia. He hadn't mastered his knew power, but he knew of a least one way to use it, and he _would_ threaten to trap the man in the other plane if he didn't fess up. Granted, Britannia could probably obliterate him with the flick of a finger, but he had at least some shred of leverage against the man, which was more than Alfred could boast. He didn't know about Arthur. Hell, he didn't even know where Arthur was. The man hadn't been in his room when he'd stopped by for support.

He was fearful for Arthur's safety. He hadn't seen his former guardian since the abrupt end to dinner the night before. He paused in front of Britannia's door, hesitating. He furtively glanced down the hallway to the left and then to the right, afraid either Siphone or Lucaster would turn the corner just as he was sneaking into their boss' room. After a few moments of silence, he tried the handle. The door swung open silently, revealing an empty room. Matthew's eyes darted around, lingering on the obviously slept in bed. A bed that looked like it had been slept in by _more than one person._ He suddenly felt sick. Where were they now?

His question was answered a few seconds later. A muffled voice sounded off from the mostly-closed bathroom door. He should've turned tail and ran right there, but his sense of morbid curiosity got the best of him. He inched forward into the room, slowly approaching the bathroom door. The crack in the door was just large enough for him to see through. He neared it, position one eye in front of the small opening.

What he saw crushed every last shred of hope that he would have any help at all in defeating in Britannia. They sat in a full tub of water together, his Arthur in the other's lap. Arthur leaned back against the man's chest, head upturned as his double's was leaning forward, their lips having met in a kiss. Both men had their eyes closed, peaceful expressions gracing their faces, cheeks flushing slightly. When they finally broke the kiss, two sets of matching eyes staring at each other. Intense. Adoring. For no less than five seconds, there was absolutely no animosity present between the two Arthurs. They stared at each other as if they'd been lovers for eternity, as if their souls were perfectly attuned to one another's.

He and Alfred had already lost him.

He backed away from the door. It didn't matter how normal Arthur acted around them. Britannia had him already. He had Arthur wrapped around his finger, completely under his control. Arthur probably didn't even realize it himself. At some point in his captivity here, Britannia's influence had completely engulfed him, and he'd truly become lost to the world.

Matthew fled.

He ran full speed down the hallway, tears once again stinging his eyes. Arthur. _Arthur_ was lost to them. And Alfred was quickly following him. How long would it be before they were all Britannia's little minions? How long would it be before Britannia had killed all their fellow nations, and they were left with a decimated, nation-less world? He was winning. Britannia was so far ahead there was no way it could even still be considered a fair game. This was _Britannia's _game now. And they were all his toys. He'd completely out-strategized them at every turned.

He tripped, crashing into the floor and sliding several feet. Choking back sobs, he pushed himself back up, leaning against the window. His eyes stared down at the city that used to be Barcelona. This was what their whole world would look like before Britannia was done. And here he was, trapped in the enemy's lair and unable to even fight back. He hated himself. He hated his weakness. He's lost his former father figure. He was losing his brother more and more as the seconds ticked by. And it was very likely that in a week's time or less, would start losing himself too.

He gripped himself by the hair, pulling roughly on it as he bit his lip until it bled. He couldn't handle this. He could feel himself breaking down. His emotions were going haywire. He couldn't think straight. He needed air. He stumbled up and started running, barreling down the hallway. He turned a corner too quickly and bounced off the wall, but he kept running, passing a very shocked Lucaster and Siphone, who both stared as he wrenched open the stairwell door. He went up. And up. And up. And up. And he kept going up until he reached the roof door.

The air hit him like a wall, but he kept his balance. He forced his legs to fight the rushing winds and he slowly and hazardously made his way across the roof of palace-like ship until he could see over the edge. Then he fell to his knees and cried. How had this happened to their world? How could something like this…How could they _lose?_ This was _their_ world. They were supposed to be able to protect it! How could they just let it fall apart like this?

He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life. He was trapped on a ship full of super-powered nations, left to the will of their ultimate enemy. He was being forced to watch while two of the most important people of life literally lost their minds. And he could already feel the edges of his own getting blurry. He screamed at the top of his lungs. Most of it was swallowed by the wind.

_Ivan. If you were in my place, what would you do? You've always been able to keep your cool in fights, especially manipulative ones. But I'm not you…and I can't handle this. Please…someone…anyone…_

…_Help me…_

No one answered.

Eyes blurred by as steady stream of tears, mind wracked with a thousand emotions that were tearing him apart, complete devoid of any rational idea, Matthew inched closer to the edge of the ship. He pushed himself up onto the small ledge that marked the edge of the roof. Behind him was the den of all evil. In front of him was endless blue sky. He sat there numbly, the wind chilling his skin, stinging his face.

_What do I do?_

_What _can_ I do?_

_I can't save Arthur._

_I can't save Alfred._

_I can't save anyone._

_I've become useless all over again._

_I'm an insignificant existence surrounded by superpowers, just like I've always been._

He dared to look at the ground. Feeling a sudden surge of hopeless rage, he forced himself to stand up, his legs shaky, his body teetering dangerously in the wind. He stared at the at the ground beneath him, a half-blackened and ruined city that used to be a lively center of rich culture and history. A sense of utter solitude overcame him, and he felt resolved. His world was ending. His friends would all die. His loved ones would perish in pain and fear. His people would be slaughtered. And he had two choices.

Watch helplessly from the sidelines.

Or die with them.

He could quite honestly say that was both the hardest choice of his life and the easiest. He sucked in a deep breath. _I refuse. I refuse to watch this. I refuse to help him. I refuse to bear witness to the death and corruption of everything I care about. I refuse. _So that only left one option. He took two steps forward, his toes brushing the very edge. His entire body shook in fear. _I'm going first. Before you all. Before you, Ivan. _Cold tears streamed down his cheeks. _But I know you won't be far behind. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've failed everyone. I can't stop him…I can't save Alfred and Arthur. I'm so sorry. _

He started to lean forward.

_Forgive me, everyone. _

_If not for failing you, than at least forgive me for being a coward._

"Matthew."

He faltered, regaining his balance at the last second.

"Are you going to jump?"

He hesitantly turned around, spying Britannia standing a few feet away. The man wore only a pair of a jeans and an open shirt that billowed in the wind. His hair was still damp. His face was a combination of shock, surprise, and sorrow.

"What do you want?" He murmured.

"Why would even think of doing something like this? You'll devastate Alfred and Arthur. And I—"

"Don't pretend you care. And don't use them as a defense. I'm a nuisance to you, and I know it. You just want to keep me locked up here while you destroy all I care about. I'm not of any real use to you, am I?"

"Use? I don't just want you here to use you."

Matthew laughed hatefully. "Don't give me that bull shit. You want to use _everyone_. That is your only goal for having us here. I'm not a fool, Britannia. I know exactly what's happening in there. You're bending Arthur and Alfred to your will. And you've already won at that. I can plainly see there's no 'snapping them out of it.' You've thoroughly fucked with their minds, manipulating them to the point where they can barely even see what's happening to them. I don't know how you've done it, but I do know you've won. You've won both of them. And I know if I stay here like this, I'll end up the same away."

Britannia seemed to be considering his words. "So you think suicide is a better option?"

"I would much rather die than be corrupted by you."

Britannia shook his head. "I see. So you've truly lost all your hope then?"

Matthew didn't answer.

"That's a pity. I thought you had more fight in you in than that."

"Guess even you can be wrong sometimes."

"Matthew, don't do this. We can work this out."

"There is nothing you are willing to do for me that can fix this." He shot the man an defiant glare. "I will gladly fall to my death knowing I will not have to witness anymore of the horrors you'll bring upon the world."

Britannia sighed. His shoulders tensed slightly, and then he stiffened completely, looking at Matthew with wide eyes, completely shocked. "Why can't I…?" A fearful look of understanding cross his face. "Your power…"

"What about it?"

"Matthew. Please, think about this. You're being rash. You only have one life. If you waste it with this foolishness, you're gone for good."

"You think this is foolish?" Matthew watched the clouds move by them. "It's cowardly. I'll give you that. But foolish? Letting myself die so I can spare myself the pain of witnesses everyone I love die around me? That's not foolish. Especially considering my choices. Die or go insane at your hands. No. That's not a hard or foolish choice."

"If you fall, I can't save you."

Matthew watched him curiously. "Why not? You have all the magic in the world don't you?"

"I just tried to pull you down. I can't. Your new power apparently makes you immune to physical magic. I can't use anything on you that affects your body. If you fall right now, you will _die._"

Matthew snorted at the irony. "Isn't that the point though?"

"_Think_ about this. You will _destroy_ Arthur and Alfred if you do this. You talk about me hurting them. But think about what it'll do to them if you _die_. They may be affected by me, but they're still themselves, and they still love you. Do you really want them to know you killed yourself because you couldn't stand being around them while they're like this? I won't lie. I _have_ been manipulating them both. A lot. But they are still who they've always been, and I want you to remember that before you step off the edge and plunge to your death."

He didn't want to give Britannia any points, but he couldn't deny the man made sense. Alfred and Arthur, even if they both ended up lost to Britannia's side, were still Alfred and Arthur. Whenever one of them got hurt, the other two were always exceedingly worried. If Matthew died, what it would do to them? What would it do to their already fragile mental states? He didn't want to hurt Arthur and Alfred anymore than they already had been. His face burned. He _hated_ this man. He hated this man being _right_ in any sense of his word. If he'd had the strength, he would've killed the fucker in an instant.

After fighting with himself for several moments, he finally gave up. He couldn't risk hurting them any further. "Fine…fine…you win…again." He shook with anger and humiliation.

Britannia's eyes softened. "Matthew, something like _this_ is not a game to me."

"Shut up. Just shut up!" He whipped around to face the man again. "You've already won, so just shut up and leave me alone!"

A massive gust of wind slammed into his chest. Matthew tripped, his foot sliding off the edge.

And then he fell.

* * *

**Dro: **-puts on bullet proof vest- Don't kill me! The next chapter comes out the day after tomorrow! Please be patient!

**Next Chapter:** This is the chapter that will **BLOW YOUR MIND** and make you rethink **EVERYTHING** from the last ten chapters.


	36. The Book of Revelations I

**Dro: **Prepare to be eternally mind-fucked by this chapter. -snickers- I feel like this story just keeps better and better. So **review**, and tell me if you think so too. And oh, I've had lots of people ask me when we're getting back the others on the ground (Italy and co.). My answer is only that there are at least **three** more chapters in this arc. Two I've which I've already written, which I why I don't exactly. But it shouldn't be more than four total. We'll see how far I get when I write chapter 39. This current arc needs to be finished before I get back to the ground because it sets up the next arc, which takes place on the ground all the way to end. So, just a few more chapters of this. A few more _very exciting and mind-fucking chapters._

**Chapter Summary: **There's no summary for this. It's too awesome for one._  
_

**Warnings: **Mind-fuckery

**Disclaimer:** But no matter how awesome it is, I still don't own APH.

* * *

A scream tore through his throat. He was free falling, picking up speed at a rapid rate, the wind rushing against him, the world beneath him getting larger and larger as he plunged toward it. The airship sped by him, the bottom of the massive structure in his line of sight. _Die. I'm going to die._ _Oh my God._ He clenched his eyes shut.

Then he stopped. His arm nearly tore out of its socket, and he screamed again in pain instead of fear. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself hanging by one arm thousands of feet above the ground. He dangled there helplessly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he thought his ribs would crack. Confused, he looked up, and disbelief struck him like a freight train. On a small ledge jutting out from the very bottom of the ship was Britannia, pressed flat against the structure as he desperately held onto Matthew with one hand.

Matthew breath rushed from his lungs. He stared up at the man in complete shock. Britannia said nothing as he began to pull Matthew up, his immense strength making Matthew like a paperweight in his grip. Matthew found himself heaved up and pressed against the man's chest. He sat, legs hanging over the ledge, looking out over the ruins of Barcelona. His entire body was contorted with tremors, his body finding itself stunned by the sudden shocks of the last couple minutes. Britannia's arms wrapped around his waist, holding him in place. The man's face rested on his shoulder, the sound of his relieved breathing filling Matthew's ears.

"Please…please don't do that again." He whispered.

He wouldn't. Never again. What had he been thinking? Where had the idea that suicide was a good idea come from? His first thought was Britannia, the source of all Alfred's and Arthur's problems, but he didn't think so. His thoughts were almost in direct retaliation to what Britannia wanted him to do, almost like he was _rejecting_ whatever manipulative magic the man was pumping into him. Which, apparently, was just as dangerous as letting it overtake you. Matthew shook wildly, trying to catch his breath. What if he _had_ actually fallen? Oh God, his _people_, his _country._ What the hell was wrong with him?

"I would like to know that as well."

"Stay out my head." He weakly retorted. "You're the reason for all this."

"I will stay out of your head if you promise not to try this again."

"I swear. I swear to God. I don't know what came over me." He started rambling. "Oh my God. I must be _insane._ I'm crazy. I just know I—"

Britannia silenced him by pressing his thumb to Matthew's lip. "Hush. Just calm down, Matthew."

Matthew reluctantly let himself relax in the man's arms. He didn't want Britannia's comfort, but his mind was muddled and his emotions were on the fritz and just _didn't know_ what to do. So he let Britannia hold him, the man murmuring soft words in his ear. Matthew let it lull him, his eyelids drooping. He let himself ignore the fact that they were still perched precariously on a ledge thousands of feet above the ground.

"Matthew. We need to get back inside now."

"…How?" He muttered tiredly, his body worn out from the sudden withdrawal of adrenalin.

"There's a maintenance entrance on this ledge somewhere. It should be that way." He nodded to the right.

"Fine." He didn't particularly want to stand up, but he let Britannia pull him to his feet, still holding him with a firm but gentle grip. Matthew dared to glance at the ground so far beneath him, and he shuddered. He would have hit that long past this point now, been splattered on the ground, in _pieces. _Dead. Gone.

"Don't think about it."

"You…"

"I don't need to read your mind to understand what you're thinking." Britannia led him along the ledge for the next several minutes, the wind still whipping past them both, threatening to throw them off balance. Matthew knew would Britannia would catch him if he fell, and he was ambivalent about that. He didn't want the man's help, but he had lost any shred he'd previously had of a desire to die.

Finally, they came to a hatch-like door, which Britannia popped open with his mind. He pulled Matthew back into the safety of the ship, the door creaking shut behind them, cutting off the sharp sound of the shrieking wind. They stood in some kind of machinery room. Britannia finally let go of his hand and turned around to face him.

"What compelled you to do that?"

Matthew figured now wasn't a good time to point out the irony in that statement. "I…I don't know…"

"You came up after you saw us together. Was that what did it?"

Matthew sputtered. "W-what?"

"Arthur and I. You snuck into my room earlier and saw us in the bathroom." He raised an eyebrow. "Despite your apparent beliefs and experiences, Matthew, you are not invisible."

Matthew ignored the blush creeping up his cheeks. "I-I'm sorry, that wasn't what I meant to—"

"I know. But you didn't answer my question. Was _that_ what set you off?"

"I…I don't know. I just suddenly felt…I can't even describe it now. It's so hazy now." Why _had_ he suddenly wanted to kill himself so badly? It didn't make sense. He certainly didn't now. But apparently, Britannia had figured it out because Matthew could see the cogs turning in the man's brain through his highly expressive eyes. Britannia had at least some inkling why this had happened, but Matthew doubted the man would just tell him.

"Hmm. Well, as long as you're better now. You swore you wouldn't try that again, Matthew. Remember that. If I see you attempting to yourself, I will resort to compulsion."

Matthew swallowed, his mouth going dry. He couldn't believe he was thinking of something like this, but he was so afraid he'd lose control again… "Compel me."

"What?" The man looked taken aback.

"Compel me never to attempt suicide again. Please. I don't want to risk it." He bit his lip.

Britannia seemed to contemplate his motives before he nodded. "Fine." He slipped his hand into Matthew's ruffled hair and guided his head downward until their eyes met. Matthew gulped, his stomach churning at that sickening pull that came from Britannia's eyes, but he let himself get lost in it. "Do not ever attempt suicide again, Matthew." He whispered. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." Matthew replied automatically, then he came back to himself, his labored breathing suddenly incredibly loud to him in the quiet room. He wanted to look away, but Britannia was still holding him in place. "T-thank you." Britannia nodded, his lips parting as if to speak, but he caught himself, a slight blush rising on his cheeks. Matthew never found out what he wanted to say because something inside of him made him lean forward and press their lips together.

Britannia froze for several moments before cupping Matthew's cheek with his other hand and kissing back softly. It was chaste and short, but Matthew let himself get lost in it regardless. He didn't know why he did it. In fact, part of him was screaming for him to back away and run, but whatever force that Britannia commanded on this ship, whatever otherworldly influence lingered in the air had him in its grasp now.

"Matthew…"

"I…I should go.." He started to back away.

"What do you feel for me?"

Matthew faltered. The answer to that question should have been hatred. Pure, undiluted hatred. But this man, this man with his magnetic magic and Arthur's face and terrible past…the longer you spent with him, the harder it was not to fall into his web. And Matthew could see it, right there in the man's eyes, that most of his persuasion wasn't even intentional. Sure, he used his abilities to manipulate others, but most of what he was doing to him and Alfred and Arthur wasn't even of his own volition. It was just something that _happened_ the longer you were around him, the closer you stayed to him. Like he had his own ring of gravity that pulled your closer and closer until you couldn't escape anymore.

"I…I don't know…" It was the only honest answer he could come up with it. "Just…show me the way back to my room, will you? I've spent enough time with you today." He was so conflicted now. His feelings were shot, muddled together in a undecipherable pool. He _loved_ Ivan. He wanted to be with Ivan. He knew that much. But any sense beyond that was lost to him. Britannia consumed his thoughts and feelings now, and Matthew knew the longer he stayed here, the worse it would get. So maybe he should commit…should what? He lost his train of thought.

"This way."

He blinked himself out of his thoughts and started trailing along behind the man as he headed toward a set of steps. Just before Britannia's foot hit the first step, he paused. "Matthew, do you fear me?"

What kind of question was that? Of course he _feared_ this man. How could anyone not fear this man? Apparently, his answer was apparent on his face, because Britannia kept speaking.

"I see." There was a look of—what? Hurt?—something Matthew couldn't place that briefly flashed across Britannia's face. Had he been expecting a different answer? Matthew could've sworn fear tactics were a huge part of the man's game. Then again, with the bipolar way he seemed to treat Arthur, Alfred, and himself…He shook his head and followed the man up the steps.

Britannia paused again at the landing that Matthew guessed led to their floor. "What is it?" He asked when the man didn't immediately speak. Britannia slowly turned around, an indescribable look in his eyes. Then he was _there, _fingers brushing Matthew's cheek. Matthew's face rushed with blood, and he stuttered to try and stop the man, but he started speaking too late. Britannia kissed him fiercely, like he had when they'd been trying to jumpstart Matthew's powers. He found himself pressed against the wall, smothered by the man's feverish kisses. Britannia was far too strong to push off, so Matthew just stood there dumbfounded, trying his best to resist repeating his earlier breach of resistance to the man's pull. But it was _really, really_ hard.

Every nip and brush of lips chipped away at his unresponsiveness. He broke. He started kissing back hungrily. Britannia groaned, his tongue pushing into Matthew's mouth, which warmly accepted it. Then he was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving Matthew to stumble to maintain his balance. Britannia heaved open the heavy door and motioned for him to follow before slipping out. Matthew leaned against the wall, completely confused. What the hell had just happened?

He pushed himself off the wall and rushed out into the hallway, but Britannia was nowhere to be found. He tried to calm his racing pulse and ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "What the fuck is wrong with that man?" Well, he _was_ insane, so that might have had something to with it. But still, what was up with him making advances on _everyone? _Matthew had been convinced the bastard was just teasing and taunting at first, but now he wasn't so sure. He didn't act this way with Siphone and Lucaster, so it _had_ to be something about him, Alfred, and Arthur.

Could it be the parallels? He wondered. Arthur was a parallel to Britannia, so Matthew, in a very twisted way, could understand how the two of them could be so pulled toward each other. But when it came to Alfred and himself, could that also be the case? Britannia's world had had a man that was, quite possibly, an exact combination of both brothers. So maybe the pull they both felt toward Britannia was because somewhere, subconsciously, their souls…how did he put this…_resonated_ at the same frequency or something? It sounded farfetched no matter how he put it, but it _had_ to have something to with that. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

And it wasn't just on their end either. Matt could plainly see the struggle within Britannia now that he thought about it. The man felt pulled toward them too. He—

"Matt! There you are!"

He whirled around to see Alfred rushing toward him.

"Where've you been? I've been searching for you all morning." Alfred slowed to a walk as he neared Matthew, looking at his brother, eyes lingering on his disheveled hair and swollen lips. He raised his eyebrows. "What…what have you been up to?" He asked calmly, but Matthew didn't miss the suspicion in his voice.

Damn, he needed a cover story. _Think, Matthew, think!_ He drew a blank. "Uh…"

"I would say you were with Arthur, but since I've already asked him where you were…"

Well, there went that idea.

"Matt?"

"Uh…well, you see…"

"He's been with me."

They both froze at the sound of Britannia's voice. Alfred, face contorting with subtle anger, slowly turned to face the slightly shorter form of Arthur's other self, who was smiling rather deviously. _Mon Dieu, _Matthew thought. _This man is so bipolar. _Britannia's moods changed more often than Poland changed clothes, and it was honestly making him doubt the man had any shred of sanity left whatsoever.

"And what do you mean by that?" Arthur growled.

"Calm down now, Alfred. I'm not going to harm your brother. I like Matthew." He winked. "In fact, I like him a lot." He flitted past Alfred like he was made of smoke and ended up behind Matthew, his arms wrapping around Matthew's waist. He pressed his face into Matthew's shoulder, and Matthew could _feel_ the grin.

_What are you doing?_ He knew the man could read his thoughts.

_I've come to an important decision about you._

_And what's that?_

_Like I just said: I like you._

_Uh…_and?

"Which means, I've decided to let Matthew become something almost no one ever has." Britannia spoke into Matthew's shoulder, though he was plenty audible.

"_What?"_ The brothers replied together. Britannia chuckled and gripped Matthew tighter. Matthew could almost _feel_ the playful malice permeate the air around the man. What had happened to the Britannia from only a few minutes ago, the solemn, emotionally-confused Britannia who'd legitimately been concerned for Matthew's wellbeing? It was like there were a hundred of him roaming around on the ship, all with different personalities.

"I've decided to make Matthew my lover."

A silence thicker than smoke settled over them, and Matthew thought it would choke him to death before he regained his ability to speak. What kind of ludicrous behavior _was_ this? This _was_ a completely different man from before. It _had_ to be.

…And it _could_ be.

Matthew went rigid in Britannia's hold, so numbed to the world in that one brief moment of realization that he didn't even hear what Alfred was yelling. Arthur and Britannia had exchanged memories. Arthur was apparently struggling to keep them separate…what if…Matthew dared to crane his neck and get a better look at the man holding him. As his gaze fell on the small scar above Britannia's eyebrow and Matthew's recent memory immediately told him that, no, the "Britannia" in his memory did _not_ have one, Britannia's eyes flicked up to Matthew in pure and utter glee, confirming every fear he had.

_That…that wasn't you…_

Britannia smiled wickedly.

_Nope._

_

* * *

_

**Dro: **-laughs maniacally-

**Next Chapter:** The holy-shit-OMFG-response to this by Matthew.


	37. The Book of Revelations II

**Dro: **The revelations continue people. And it all leads up to this arc's totally mind-blowing finale! Which, I know now is Chapter 39. So **review**! Because that would make this even more awesome.

**Chapter Summary: **The aftermath of Revelations I.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **The usual. I am still too poor to buy APH.

* * *

"How long?" Matthew slammed his hands on the table, staring down an amused Britannia, who leaned back casually in his chair.

"How long have we been switching back and forth?"

"What else would I mean?" Matthew seethed. His hands shook from the sheer pressure of the anger building up inside him. He wanted nothing more than to smash this bastard's face in. How _dare_ he think he can get away with this!

"I would say…Hmm, that's a good question, actually. I don't really now. I just had the sudden realization one morning that I'd spent the first six hours of my day thinking I was Arthur. I'm guessing it happens a lot, though I'm not always aware of it. I don't think Arthur even knows we switch yet. His brain seems to tune out the time he thinks he's me whenever he remembers himself." Britannia shrugged. "I've thought about telling him, but kind of want to see how far this goes before Arthur realizes the truth. He may never. I always make sure to disappear or pretend to be him whenever he's in 'me mode.' It's quite amusing to watch, actually." He chuckled loudly.

Matthew threw a solid punch, but Britannia caught it without blinking. "Now, now, Matthew, don't let your anger get the best of you. You don't want to turn into Alfred now."

"Alfred's not—"

"I know. He's not 'naturally' angry like he is now. And I say: Don't worry about it. This is a side effect of his new powers. Once they firmly settle into him, he should regain control over his emotions."

"'Should' being the key word there. And don't you can fool me! I know you're manipulating him. I'm not blind. I can see the effects of whatever influence you have teeming in the air." He tried to pull his fist back, but the man gripped it harder. Matthew winced at the malice pooling in the man's eyes.

"You can _see_, can you? Are you sure about that?"

"I can see enough to know it's you making us act this way."

"Making you try to kill yourself, you mean?"

Matthew felt the blood drain from his face. "Don't you _dare_ talk about that. That's your fault, and you know it!"

The man just shrugged again. "Fine. I'll own up to it. It _is_ my fault. You're completely right." He smiled. "And I want it that way. You try to act so defiant. All of you. But in reality, you are all so very weak and so easily corrupted." He rose to his feet and jerked Matthew roughly forward, leaning over his desk to press their foreheads together. Matthew couldn't even make his eyelids close. He just stared in horror. "But let me make something very clear to you, Matthew. You are here, and you are alive, and it is only because I wish it so. I could have killed you all, everyone last one of you—every nation, every human—the moment I arrived here if I'd wanted to. I could flick my fingers right now and kill all your little friends down below in an instant. I could _snap_ your pretty little neck," his hand shot up and wrapped around Matthew's throat, "in a split second. So let's get something straight here, Matthew. _I'm_ calling the shots, here. _I'm_ the one in control. _I'm_ the master of this ship and soon the master of your world. So you would do quite well to listen to me and accept my decisions. Or things might stop going so well for you."

"W-well…?" Matthew tried to keep up his façade of courageous defiance, but he was shaking in fear now, and he knew Britannia could see It in his eyes.

"Yes, well. You could always be dead, remember that?"

"Maybe I want to be. I certainly don't want to be alive if _you're_ the one in charge of it."

Britannia smacked him.

"Arthur compelled you not to commit suicide. And I'm not killing you. Because I have a use for you now. So do yourself a favor and get those ridiculous notions of your head. Arthur's mine. Alfred's mine. You're mine. End of story." He released Matthew's fist, watching nonchalantly as Matthew stumbled backward, terrified, and nearly fell into the seat in front of the man's desk. Matthew tried to quell his trembling, but even when he suppressed his fear, he realized Britannia's magic was hovering in the air, pushing and pulling at him, both physically and mentally.

Insane. He was going to go insane. Arthur was already over the edge and falling. Alfred was only inches from it. And Matthew was following close behind. He'd already tried to kill himself. What next? Would he go berserk and start murdering people? He wanted to cry. He wanted to curl up and cry and never come back to reality. He clenched his pants legs, biting back tears.

Britannia watched him with his half-interest, his sudden burst of insane anger nothing more than lingering hot coals not. In its place was his former cocky, amused grin, a spark of something playfully sinister in his eyes. "So, Matthew, tell me. What's it like having the honor of being my lover?"

Matthew leapt from the couch, growling. "This isn't funny, you fucker! And I would _never_ be your lover." He whipped around to leave, only to have the man's arms wrap around his torso and hold him back.

"You didn't seem to object to my advances before."

"_That_ wasn't you." He grimaced, remembering Arthur's completely convincing alternate persona.

"No, it wasn't." He leaned against Matthew's ear, hot breath chilling Matthew to the bone. "But you thought it was, didn't you?"

Matthew said nothing. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He was too afraid he'd slip up, too afraid he'd admit that Britannia had already trapped him in his web. Too afraid. Too cowardly. Just like always. Even when he was breaking and slowly slipping into insanity, it seemed, Matthew never changed. And never in his life had he wished he was a stronger person than he did he now. Because if he couldn't become that person, he knew, Britannia would win. If he couldn't manage to hold his ground, they would lose. And he would lose Arthur and Alfred. For good.

How was it, he wondered, that the weight of the world had suddenly dropped onto his shoulders?

* * *

Alfred let his head rest on the cool glass of the window while he stared blankly at the clouded sky around him. Arthur was nowhere to be found. He pressed his head harder against the solid surface. He'd looked and looked and looked after Britannia had taken off with Matt, trying to get backup to save his brother from the man's clutches. But he wasn't in his room or roaming the hallways, where Alfred had found him earlier. He wasn't in Britannia's office, or at he least he assumed that since the man had locked only himself and Matt in there. He wasn't in Britannia's expansive library either, where Alfred had gone just a few minutes prior. So if he wasn't in any of those places, then where was he?

A growing sense of dread twisted the muscles around his stomach. Some was _really, really_ wrong here. Britannia was claiming that Matt was his lover. That was ludicrous enough in and of itself. But it was especially crazy considering Britannia's insane possessiveness over Arthur. Weren't they in some kind of pseudo-relationship? So where had his sudden obsession with Matt come from? And then there had been Matt's reaction. His brother had been a lot more vocal and stubborn since he'd arrived on the ship, but the Matt from an hour ago had been wide-eyed and silent. Alfred could see the gears turning in Matthew's head. Matt had figured out something important, and Alfred would bet anything that's why Britannia had whisked him away so fast. What was it? What could Matt possibly know that he didn't?

The next time he saw his brother, he probably wouldn't even know what he'd figured out. Britannia would probably compel him to forget it. Or at least not to tell it. Whatever the big secret was, Alfred had no way of knowing. He was in the dark, ignorant, like the world had always assumed to be. He sighed. This plan was to supposed to have been so simple. How had he ruined things so badly? How had he fallen so quickly into Britannia's traps?

_Feliciano. I've really screwed up, you know? I don't think I'm going to be getting out this one unscathed. _If he got out at all. Which looked unlikely. His mind was a mush of confusing thoughts and feelings. He wasn't even sure that any of them were natural. He was half-convinced that almost everything he was feeling derived from Arthur's other self in some way, shape, or form. The bastard was manipulating him. Badly. He was falling fast, and if he didn't stop himself soon, he would rock bottom in a way that he would never be able to recover.

"Alfred?"

He whirled around to see Arthur standing behind him, uncertainty marring his features, fear buried deep in his eyes. "Arthur?" He rushed over to the man, hugging him tightly. Arthur stiffened at his touch. "Jesus. I thought something had happened to you. I looked _everywhere_."

"I'm sorry." Arthur muttered.

Alfred slowly released him, meeting the man's terrified gaze. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I…I don't…"

"Arthur, did something happen to you?"

"I don't know…"

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I…I don't _know._ I feel like there's a chunk of time missing from my mind."

"You're losing time? Blacking out?"

He shook his head. "I don't know." But his eyes told a different story. Arthur suspected something, something so absolutely horrifying, he couldn't even bring himself to say it.

"Let's go to my room." He squeezed Arthur's hand gently, trying to comfort the man. Arthur nodded silently and let Alfred lead him down the hallway. It was so out of place, so off kilter from Arthur's usual self that it shook Alfred to his core. Arthur's mind was fixated on a _terrifying_ thought. But what was it? What was it he thought had happened to him?

He sat Arthur down on his bed, letting the man curl in on himself. He truly looked like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown, and Alfred found _himself_ terrified for Arthur's wellbeing. He lowered himself on the mattress next to the man that had meant everything to him for most of his life. He gently squeezed Arthur's shoulder, guiding him closer until he could wrap an arm Arthur's huddled form.

He didn't day speak for several minutes. He rocked Arthur back and forth, trying to calm the man's fears. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the glisten of tears. Never in his life had he seen Arthur this shaken, not when he'd declared independence, not during the Blitz. Some was very wrong. Something Arthur had never experienced before. It had to be something of Britannia's doing. There was no other option. And if Britannia had done it to Arthur…the memory exchange?

"Arthur, is this about Britannia's memories?" As soon as he said 'memory,' Arthur went rigid. "It is, isn't it?" Arthur said nothing. "Talk to me, Arthur. Please. I know you're scared, but I'm scared too because I don't what's wrong."

"I don't know either." He whispered. "A-a few hours ago, I found myself looking out the window, staring at the ground. It seemed so mundane, so normal. I do it all the time. I thought nothing of it. Until I looked at the clock. And…" His breath caught in a silent sob.

"And what, Arthur?" He embraced the man tighter.

"I saw the time on the clock…and…and I realized…I realized I had _no idea_ what I'd been doing since I'd woken up. At least two hours."

"Two hours." What _had_ Arthur been doing? But…then again… "I saw you in the hallway not too long before that. I asked you where Matt was, remember?"

He finally uncurled, wide eyes staring back into Alfred's. "No. No, I don't remember that at all. A-are you sure it was me?"

Alfred almost said 'Of course' before he suddenly realized he wasn't. When he'd seen Arthur in the hallway, Arthur had spoken to him first. He'd had Arthur's accent, so Alfred had _assumed_. But he hadn't really paid attention, not bothered to scrutinize the man's appearance. _Oh my God…Oh my God, it _wasn't_ Arthur I talked to, was it?_

Arthur took his silence as a confirmation of his fears. "It was him, wasn't it? It was him you spoke to earlier. While I was…doing what? I don't know."

"Don't you?"

Arthur froze, his mouth stuck open slightly as his jaw failed to work properly. "W-what are you insinuating?"

"You know something you're not telling me, Arthur. I can see it written all over your face. You know exactly what's happened to you, don't you? You're just afraid too acknowledge it. _What_ is it, Arthur?"

Arthur's lower lip trembled, and Alfred almost took his forceful question back. But then Arthur spoke. And with each word, Alfred felt himself begin to freeze over.

"You remember how I said sometimes I wake up thinking I'm him?"

"Yes…"

"Well, lately, it's been getting worse. A lot worse. I find myself slipping into that idea of being him during random times of day. I can usually shake it off quickly, in just a few seconds. Or so I thought. When I realized I was missing time this morning, I thought, what if I'm _not_ shaking his memories off like I thought? What if, without me even realizing it, I've been stuck thinking I was him for…for _hours_? Longer? I…I think…I think I might be…losing myself, Alfred. With every passing day, I'm losing more and more of my awareness of my identity. And I…I'm _scared_. I don't want to be _him, _Alfred. I don't want to become him!" He screamed.

"Arthur. Arthur, calm down! You're not going to become him! I swear. Whatever I have to do to keep you safe, I will. I'd give my life to keep you as Arthur before I let you become that bastard. You're _not_ going to become him, you hear me?"

"But what if it can't be stopped? What it's already too late? What if I get trapped thinking I'm him one day and can't break out of it?" Arthur was shaking uncontrollably now. "I'm…I'm _scared_. I'm scared, Alfred." He whimpered. The tears broke free, and his hands were suddenly in his hair, tugging roughly. "Please help me!"

"Arthur! Arthur, stop! You're going to hurt yourself!" He grabbed Arthur's hands, wrenching them away from his head. Arthur was screaming hysterically. _Oh, God. Oh, God, no! Not this!_ Arthur was breaking down right in front of him, his mind unable to hold it together as Britannia's memories ate away at it. What did he do? What could he possibly do to stop this? He had to calm Arthur down or…

_Forgive me, Feliciano._

He pulled Arthur into a searing kiss, wiping the tears from the man's cheeks. He pulled back, the silence from Arthur's cut off screams heavy in the room. "Arthur, do you remember the day I told you I loved you?" He caressed the man's cheeks gently. "Do you remember how we made love that day? Do you remember _me,_ Arthur? Not just the event, but how you _felt_ about me, about _us_, about _yourself_? Do you remember that, Arthur? Because those are _your_ memories. They are _you_. And they can be copied as many times as you want, but deep down, they're yours. And deep down, you _know _that. So tell me, Arthur, do you remember?"

Arthur's teary eyes wide, a light blush spreading over his cheeks. "I…I…I do…" He whispered as if he'd just realized. "I remember." His eyelids drooped. "I remember…everything I felt in that moment. The love. The fear of rejection. The—"

Alfred kissed him again, deeper this time. Arthur immediately responded, kissing him with everything his weakened body had. When they finally parted, Alfred laid Arthur gently down on his bed and positioned himself next to him, stroking his hair, lightly dabbing kisses on his cheeks and neck. Arthur clung to him desperately, choked sobs occasionally escaping from his throat.

"Remember me." He whispered into Arthur's ear. "Whenever you doubt yourself, remember me. Remember us. Remember everything we've been through and all the ways we've felt about each other. No matter what, I'm always here for you. Always." Arthur eventually quieted, but he didn't relent in his hold. Eventually, Alfred found himself dozing off, images of fireworks in Paris and an Englishmen's scowling face followed by the tired brown eyes of a tried and haggard boy flashed through his mind.

* * *

**Dro:** Gee, this just keeps getting more and more emo, huh? Oh well!

**Next Chapter: **Alfred falls from grace. Matthew knows the truth. And Arthur is left ignorant as the end draws nearer.


	38. The Book of Revelations III

**Dro: **I probably should've mentioned you should _really_ expect some shocking things in this chapter. And with that note, read and **review**, please!

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred falls from grace. Matthew finds himself stuck with only a single shred of hope. And Arthur is lost in the middle of it all.

**Warnings: **Language, Implied Sex

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Still too poor to buy APH.

* * *

Alfred walked down the hallway in a daze. He hadn't wanted to leave Arthur's sleeping side, afraid the man would wake up as Britannia again. He shivered. It was cold in here. Or was it? He glanced out the window. It shouldn't have been _that_ cold. Not now. Not this time of year. He wrapped his arms around himself, sighing. Matt. He needed to find Matt. Britannia had taken his brother away and Alfred hadn't seen him since, which couldn't be a good sign. Something was awry here. Something…He paused, realizing he'd forgotten what he was thinking. _What's wrong with me?_

Everything in his mind seemed hazy and unclear, like he was peering through fog. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the cold metal of the ring brush against his scalp. He swallowed nervously, eyes trained on the glinting silvery medium on his finger. Maybe he _should_ take it off. Matt was right. There was no way it was helping him stay level-headed. He made to remove it, but something stopped him. If he took it off, he would lost his extra protection. No! He was strong on his own! He didn't need magic. But didn't he? Without it, he was at a severe disadvantage. No! No! That was Britannia's influence talking! _Get out! Get out of my head!_ He sank to the floor, sucking in deep breaths. He _would_ take that ring off. Then again…

"God, just stop!" He whimpered. A sharp, stabbing pain struck his skull, and he cried out. It felt like his head was splitting in two. He cried out, falling into a heap on the floor, his muscles completely tensed and rigid, his hands gripping his head tightly. "Ah!" A thousand memories flashed through his mind, _burning_ his consciousness, clouding any hint of clarity he made have had left.

The pain doubled.

He screamed.

It echoed down the hall as he writhed on the floor, begging for the pain to _just stop_ because he couldn't possibly take this any longer. He was going to die. He was sure of it. He was dying right here on the enemy's floor in agony. He—

Something ripped.

It wasn't something physical, something tangible. It wasn't even something that was really in existence. It was something deep somewhere inside him in a place he didn't know, something further down inside himself than he had ever been before. From the epicenter of that rip, a tear formed inside him, spreading out as the seconds ticked by, the time long lost to Alfred. He stared at the ceiling with wide eyes, mouth slack-jawed as the most immense pain imaginable consumed him. He lost all sense of coherency other than pain. Pain was life. Life was pain. And something was _ripping_ apart inside of him.

And then it was split in half.

His body went slack, laying lifelessly on the floor as he stared dully at the ceiling. He wasn't sure how long he was there, just looking blankly at the ceiling, not really seeing, not really thinking, not really living. There was a void inside of him, a void that he had fallen into where that something had torn in two and left a gap. He floated in that void, lost in it.

Wisps of memories floated by him. He was a child holding Arthur's hand, walking happily down the road. He was a young man, fired up with determination and free spirit and the idea of _freedom_ and _revolution._ He was an explorer, young and restless, traveling along the unknown paths of the great unexplored West. He was at war. Being torn in two. Pain. So much pain. Pain. But not like the pain he'd just felt. Not even close. And more war. But this time, he was in Europe. He faced a blond-haired, green-eyed man that would not face him back, would not forgive him, would not admit he still cared. And then, then he did. Another war later, they made love for the first time in a war planning room, the dam of emotions they'd held back for more than a century finally breaking through.

And then Feliciano was there, determined eyes revitalizing a hurt and damaged young man. They smiled at each. They loved each other. They planned. They plotted. This. They'd plotted this together. This undeniably massive failure of…Failure…Failure of what? What had he failed at? The images kept zipping by him, most faster than he could even see or coherently experience. But he was missing something. He'd fail…Fail? Fail at…

What had he been thinking about again?

A thousand emotions, a thousand memories, a hundred different lifetimes. They flashed by him in a moment, falling into that void until he couldn't see them anymore. They vanished. He tried to chase after them, but they refused to let him catch up. So he let them go.

He let everything go.

And then he woke up.

The ceiling greeted him silently. He blinked, confused. Why was he laying on the floor? He sat up. He glanced around at the empty hallway. "Okay…" He pushed himself up off the ground. How in the world had he fallen asleep in the hallway? Did he not get enough sleep last night? No, he had. Or at least he thought he had. Perhaps he'd had a troubled sleep. He shrugged his shoulders. "Weird." He adjusted his coat, staring out at the ruins of Barcelona. All the cities would look like this by the time they were done. Well, until the world surrendered, that is. How much longer would they hold out? Surely they'd realized the futility of this situation.

"Alfred."

He whipped around to face Britannia. "Oh, good morning."

Britannia's eyebrow quirked up, then flattened out as a knowing glint sparkled in his eyes. "Morning to you too." He walked up to the window until he was standing next to Alfred. Alfred scrutinized the man. What was he planning this time? "I was wondering if you'd thought anymore about my request."

Ah, that. "Yeah. What about it?"

"You were quite hesitant before at attacking your former comrades."

He pursed his lips. "Was I?" He thought back. Oh, he _had_ been.

…Why?

He shrugged. "Hm. I must've been in a really bad mood. So, when did you want me to do that again?"

"Kill off the remaining nations?"

"Yeah."

Britannia smiled. "So you'll do it then?"

Alfred nodded. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

* * *

Matthew's eyelashes fluttered as he awoke. His eyes met the blue expanse outside the window, and he stared at it listlessly for several minutes. He had no questions about where he was. He knew exactly where he'd ended up the night before. He was afraid to roll over, afraid _he_ was still there, even though he could clearly sense no other presence in the room. He gripped the sheets tightly, cursing himself for his weaknesses. He couldn't deal with this shit. He couldn't take this. How could he possibly leave this room today with any semblance of composure? Especially after what Britannia had told him last night. Things he'd been compelled not to repeat though he could think about them perfectly clearly.

He knew everything now. He knew exactly what that bastard was doing and how. But he had lost the power to tell anyone about it, and he found himself wishing for his ignorance back. But it would never return. Now he would be forced to watch Alfred and Arthur deteriorate, knowing exactly why and what purpose it served. And he couldn't do anything about it. He pressed his face into the pillow, groaning loudly into it. He was so frustrated! Why was he so fucking useless? Why? Why couldn't he save anyone he loved? Who would he have to watch spiral downward next? Papa? Ivan? He twisted the sheets in his fingers, eyes burning.

He sat upright, huffing loudly. "Fucking bastard…" He wanted to _kill_ Britannia. No, more than that. He wanted that man to suffer. He wanted to tear him to pieces and watch him bleed, watch him scream, watch—what was he _thinking?_ He froze, suddenly feeling sick. No, he did _not_ want any of those things. He wanted to _defeat_ Britannia, not…Good God, what was happening to his mind?

He nearly fell out of bed when someone knocked on the door. He breathed in rapidly, trying to calm himself down. _Stop being so jumpy, Matt. Just keep it together. _A voice in the back of his head told him that was an impossibility by this point. He was going to fall over the edge just the same as Alfred and Arthur. And there would be no coming back. Not once he fell. His only option for keeping his sanity was not falling at all, but if he didn't escape this place, soon, then that would never happen either.

But then…he _could_ escape this place.

He could shift planes.

Into where Britannia's magic had no effect.

His heart raced, a since of excitement he hadn't felt in ages bubbling up inside of him. He had a way to escape this man. For as long as he needed to clear his head and shake off the bastard's influence. _Yes._

The knock sounded louder.

All he needed to do was learn how to use it properly. He could remember that feeling now, he was sure, the one he needed to use his power. He would try until he got it. And he _would_ get it.

The door suddenly swung open, revealing a very irate Arthur. "I need to speak with…Matthew?" His face drained of color as his eyes widened, and Matthew could only stare, imagining just how terrible his current position looked.

_Oh, this is just what I need right now…_

_

* * *

_

Where the hell was that man? Arthur angrily stomped down the hall. He'd been looking for his double for the last hour. Not in the office. Not in the library. Not in the halls. Surely he wasn't _still_ in bed. It wasn't _that_ early. So then, he'd shifted gears and gone to look for Alfred, only to come up empty there too. Where was everyone? Matthew was next on the list, but Arthur couldn't find him either.

Annoyed, he changed directions and marched down the hallway to his double's bedroom. He stopped abruptly on the door, knocking softly the first time. He tapped his foot impatiently. No answer. He could feel his blood boiling. He knocked louder. Waited. Still no answer. _You've got to be kidding me. If he's not here either…_

He tried the handle. The door popped open without resistance, revealing someone sitting on the bed. "I need to speak with…Matthew?" Arthur went rigid, his eyes dissecting every shred of the image in front of him. Matthew sat on his double's bed, chest bare, everything below the waist hidden by the sheets. The fresh marks on his neck left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Matthew stared back at him, lips parted slightly as he panicked internally.

For all of ten seconds, Arthur stood there completely silent, too stunned and disgusted to say anything. Then, he broke. "_Where_ is he?" He growled loudly. Matthew flinched. It wasn't Matthew he was angry at. Of course not. But that motherfucker who had _dared_ to…Arthur gripped the doorknob so hard it broke in his magic-induced fist. "That _fucker_. When I find him…"

"Arthur, just calm down! Please?" Matthew whispered nervously.

Arthur's anger suddenly drained away. He closed the door softly behind him and then he was at Matthew's side. "Did he hurt you?" Arthur asked softly.

Matthew shook his head. "Don't get the wrong idea. He didn't rape me."

"But…you…" Why would _Matthew,_ of all people…?

"Not that I'll claim it was completely consensual either. I can't imagine any form of attraction being consensual here, not with him fucking up our minds like he is." Matthew seemed to be holding something back, something Arthur could quite read.

"Are you you're alright? Do you need help?"

"No. I'm fine, Arthur. You should worry about yourself."

"No. No. I've been feeling better lately." He lied, missing the grimace that flickered across Matthew's face.

"Well, I'm fine. I just need to get dressed."

"Oh, well, I'll…leave?"

"You don't have to." Matthew peeled the sheets off himself. Arthur turned away, letting the boy clothe himself without scrutiny. He could _feel_ the embarrassment and humiliation hanging in the air around Matthew.

"Do you know where he is?" Arthur asked, staring out of the window at nothing in particular.

"No. He was already gone when I woke up."

Arthur gripped his pants leg. "That's what I was afraid you'd say."

"Why?" Matthew asked quickly, suddenly suspicious.

"Because I can't find either him or Alfred. I'm worried. Especially now." He didn't specific why, but he was sure Matthew caught the connotation.

"Did you check everywhere?"

"Yes, this was the last place on my list, I—"

There was another knock on the door, and they both froze, not sure who to expect. Apparently, the answer was Lucaster, because he started speaking through the door without opening it. "The boss wants to see you two in his office." He said nothing else, and Arthur assumed he'd left.

He glanced warily at Matthew, who returned the look. "This can't be good." Matthew mumbled. He nodded in agreement.

When they both stood in front of the man's office minutes later, neither wanted to be the one who opened the door. Matthew was too mortified to even dare. Arthur was too terrified about what could have possibly happened to Alfred. They both jumped as the door opened by itself, revealing a very cocky and smug-looking Britannia sitting alone at his desk. He beamed a smile at them.

"Well, don't just stand there you two."

They shuffled in slowly, suspicious and wary. The door shut behind them with a loud creak. Arthur's double leaned back in chair, grinning from ear to ear. Something had gone very _right_ for him, which something had gone very _wrong_ for them.

"So, what do you want? And where is Alfred?"

"Well, those two things are interrelated. But before I get to that, I must ask, why do you two look so gloomy this morning? It's a nice day. You shouldn't look quite so glum."

Arthur shot the man glare. "Well, let's see. Alfred's disappeared, for you. And then, oh yes, what you did to Matthew last night!"

Britannia's expression could _almost_ be passed off for genuine astonishment. "What?" He looked "innocently" at Matthew. "Did I hurt you last night?"

Matthew, who had sunken into a chair, shook his head slightly, refusing to meet the man's eyes. Britannia turned back to his lesser double. "Then where's the problem?"

"What kind of question is that? You…you manipulate him into…" Arthur sputtered, blushing. "You're just _sick_, you know that?"

"No offense, Arthur, but I don't think it's quite 'sick' to make to love to one's _lover_."

Arthur felt cold. Really cold. He eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them, Matthew not bothering to say anything. But Arthur could read his eyes, read the fear. "Your _lover_? And _who_, pray tell, decided that? I'm pretty damn sure Matthew didn't."

Britannia shrugged. "Well, he certainly didn't say _no._"

"You—!"

_Now, now, Arthur, don't jealous. You still rank far above Matthew in my heart. But you aren't my lover._

_I am _not_ jealous. I'm _sickened. _How dare you treat Matthew like a fuck toy! _

_I'm not, Arthur. Ask him yourself. Ask him if a disrespected him last night._

_I _don't _want to hear about last night. At all. But I swear to God if you hurt him…_

_I won't. _

_It's funny you say that, considering how much you've hurt him already._

His double rolled his eyes. _What you consider harm, I consider something else entirely. Come on now, let's speak of this later. I have important news._

"Fine." Arthur grumbled, sneering angrily at the man. He took a seat next to the jittery and uncomfortable-looking Matthew.

"Well, now that that's settled." He went back to the bright, beaming smile. "I have some exciting news!"

"Just spit out already!" Arthur retorted impatiently. He immediately regretted it as his double's face filled with far-too-pleasant malevolence.

"I would like to inform the two of you that Alfred has agreed to help me exterminate the other nations. He and Siphone have gone scouting to find out where they're hiding. I expect them to be back in a day or two. Then I'll send Lucaster along with them to finish this trifling business. And after that, I can most assuredly say that we have completed our takeover of the world."

The smile never left his face.

* * *

**Dro: **-whistles innocently-

**Next Chapter: **The beginning of the end. And the last chapter of this arc. Convenient that they overlap, huh?


	39. Judgment Day

**Dro: **-picks up shield and hides-

**Chapter Summary:** The beginning of the end.

**Warnings: **Language, Violence

**Disclaimer: **See all 38 previous chapters.

* * *

Arthur wanted to pound his fists against the wall until they bled. But he settled for clenching them until his nails dug into skin. He was barely containing himself at this point, ready to explode at any moment. And so, so confused as to why. What in the world was he angry about? He couldn't pinpoint a trigger for his anger. The last thing he remembered was getting the news that Alfred had finally agreed to his plan, which worked in his favor. So he couldn't, for the life of himself, figure out why he was so upset. He released the pressure in his hands, letting his fingers uncurl limply. Shaking his head, he trudged over to his mirror, running a throbbing hand through his ruffled hair. Something caught his eye. Well, the lack of something. He rubbed the blank spot over his eyebrow where a scar should've been.

Oh.

Arthur suddenly came back to himself, remembering who he was. He recoiled from the mirror, gasping loudly. It had happened _again_. How had this even…? _Minutes_ ago he'd been in his double's office, listening to him spout ludicrous lies about Alfred, and then…then what? He remembered walking down the hallway and coming back to his room…_when_ had the transition taken place? He couldn't even _find_ the moment his memories had switched dominance. God, it was getting worse and worse. What the hell was he going to do? There was no way he could reasonably keep up his meager resistance to this man if he kept thinking he _was_ this man. He was royally screwed at this point. If this got any worse…

And he still didn't know what the true purpose of it all was. His double would only smile and chuckle, brushing off Arthur's inquiries and demands about his plans. He could _feel_ that lack of information too. It was a like a jagged glass hole in his mind, like there was a shard missing from the whole. A shard he _really_ wanted. But then, what would happen if he got it? What would happen if his mind and his double's ended up exactly the same? If their memories kept mixing like this, what would become of them? What could his double possibly gain from doing this? He was _still_ at a loss.

A soft knock on his door roused him from his torment. "Come in." He muttered.

Matthew slipped quietly into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click of the latch. Arthur immediately turned to him, eyes roving Matthew's body for any obvious injures…or _other_ signs of abuse. But he saw nothing more than he'd seen that morning, except an even more tired expression on Matthew's face. The boy looked like he'd already given up on the world, and Arthur felt his heart ache. Matthew shouldn't have had to witness this. He shouldn't have had to be a witness to this madness. And yet he was. And he wasn't _just_ a witness. He was a victim. Another victim in a long line of them.

"What's wrong?" He whispered.

Matthew didn't immediately answer him. He walked slowly toward the window, pressing his palm against the cool glass. Then he spoke—in a manner _far_ too calm for someone in this situation in Arthur's opinion. "How often is it happening now?"

"What?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Oh…how did you…" Arthur purse his lips. "Did _he_ tell you?"

"No. I figured it out on my own." Matthew refused to face him.

"Matthew…" Arthur wasn't sure what he _could_ say in this situation. Matthew must've been terrified…terrified and hopeless. Arthur was certainly finding himself falling into that hole.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Arthur furrowed his brows.

"You probably don't remember, since you thought you were _him_ at the time, but you saved my life yesterday."

"I…I what?"

"I tried to kill myself."

Arthur felt the blood in his veins freeze over. "…_what?"_

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Arthur. My mind is so messed up. I think I might be crashing even faster than you and Alfred." He pressed his forehead into the glass. "But, with the way things are now, I think I'm liable to lose the two of you before I fall myself. It looks like we've already lost Alfred if Britannia is actually speaking the truth." He curled his fingers inward. "Arthur, I know what he's planning to do to you."

"You…you _what?_" How could Matthew possibly know what…?

"He told me last night. And then he compelled me not to say anything until he'd accomplished his goal."

Arthur felt his heart sinking lower and lower. "Matthew…" Oh God, his _boy_…his boy was falling apart in front of him.

Matthew swallowed nervously. "He says he wants to follow through with that plan tonight. So I thought it would be best if I stopped by beforehand."

"Why?" A deep sense of fear was creeping through Arthur's bones.

Matthew shook his head. "I can't say." His voice was no more than a whimper. "I'm sorry."

Arthur felt like he was being torn to pieces. Guilt. Even though he couldn't help Matthew. Even though it wasn't his fault. He still felt guilty. Matthew was suffering in his forced silence. Arthur shuffled forward and wrapped his hands around Matthew's waist. "No. No. _I'm_ sorry. God, Matthew, I…"

"He holds me like this."

Arthur recoiled like he'd been burnt. "I didn't mean to…"

"I know." Matthew still refused to face him.

Arthur wasn't sure what to do now. Apparently, something was going to happen to him tonight. Something he had no way to prepare for and no way to escape from. He reached out and placed his hand over Matthew's on the window. "Somehow….somehow…we…"

"We're not going to win, Arthur."

Arthur felt cold again. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth. If you knew what he was planning for you, you'd agree."

"But I don't, so I won't." Arthur replied indignantly. He had so little hope left himself that he was ready to jump on the same bandwagon, honestly, but he couldn't just let Matthew slip through his fingers like this. "We'll find a way." He sounded so sure of himself, and somewhere, deep inside his mind, there was a voice that told him he _actually_ had a way, even thought he couldn't recall why he'd think something that ridiculous.

He grasped Matthew's hand and pulled him away from the window until the boy faced him. Matthew still refused to look him in the eye, but Arthur wouldn't give up. Not yet. "Matthew, listen to me. I know this seems completely hopeless now, but we _will_ win. No matter what the cost. We will _not_ let our world fall this bastard. You hear me?"

"For someone who keeps thinking he _is_ that bastard, you sound really sure of yourself." Matthew spat.

Arthur was surprised at the boy's suddenly hostility, then he finally got a firm look at Matthew's eyes. The boy was _barely_ hanging on to the edge. He was literally two fingers' grasp away from plummeting into the abyss, his tears barely held, his sanity cracking under the pressure. Matthew had only been here for a few _days_. How had he deteriorated this quickly? It must've been his double, he thought sourly. That man had been chipping away at Matthew harder than anyone else. Angry and fearful for Matthew, Arthur led him over to his bed and sat the boy down. He forced Matthew to lay down, and he positioned himself beside the boy he'd raised, their hands linked together. Matthew's face was like stone, unreadable except for the vicious turmoil in his eyes.

Arthur gave up trying to coax Matthew into talking anymore after that. The boy stayed silent, refused to give him any ground to work on. So they just laid there for the next several hours, doing nothing, saying nothing. Both of them thought a million things a thousand times over, but neither dared to voice their conclusions about what was happening to them. Eventually, Arthur felt himself drifting to sleep, and though he valiantly fought it off, he eventually succumbed.

Matthew, upon realizing Arthur was asleep, slipped out of the man's bead and headed back out the door, his eyes still stinging. He froze momentarily, his eyes catching sight of the ominous red numbers glowing on the clock next to Arthur's bed. It was nighttime. He couldn't help but let his gaze drift back to Arthur. How long would it be before Britannia came to him to…? He didn't even want to think about it. The very idea made him sick. He didn't want to leave. Not really. He didn't want leave Arthur to the wolf, but he didn't want to _watch_ him get devoured either.

Like the coward he knew he was, he backed away and out the door, closing it softly behind him, whispering a soft "Goodbye" to the man still asleep on the other side of it. Then he was off, quickly shuffling down the hallway. He just wanted to lock himself away and never emerge again. Maybe that's what he would do. He'd shift planes and never come back. Ever. He braced himself against the wall, feeling the last of resolve begin to break away. This _couldn't_ be happening. Tears sprung to his eyes again, threatening to fall. It just _couldn't_. This nightmare _had_ to be a dream. It couldn't end this way. It just…it just couldn't…

"Matthew? Feel alright there?"

Matthew whipped around to face the source of all his misery. Britannia stood in the hallway, looking like he'd just been walking by and _happened_ to come upon Matthew. Matthew wanted to _rip _that fucker's head off. Britannia just smiled at him.

"No. I don't feel _alright_. I feel like I'm going insane."

"Perhaps you should get some rest then. You're looking quite stressed." The innocence on his face made Matthew physically _sick_. He knew exactly where Britannia was going now and exactly what he was going to do when he got there.

"Fuck you."

"Hm. Maybe later. I have something to do first."

Matthew punched him. He _tried_ to punch him. Instead of blackening Britannia's eye, his first was nearly crushed in the man's grip as he caught just before it made contact. Matthew cried out in pain, only to have his lips smashed against Britannia's in a brutal kiss, the man's tongue ravaging Matthew's mouth until he pulled away seconds later, licking his lips deviously.

"How about we let that be our goodnight kiss? I think my engagement might take me a little longer than I was originally planning. And you really look like you could use a good night's rest, Matthew. Don't want you getting sick now." He let Matthew's fist go, and the boy dropped to the floor, cradling his arm. His tears had broken free, and Matthew sobbed into the floor, gasping loudly. Britannia looked down on him, clicking tongue against the roof of his mouth. Shrugging, he turned around and went on his way, leaving Matthew a sobbing heap on the floor. As he turned the corner, he got one last glimpse of the boy, now curled into a ball on the floor, crying hysterically.

Seconds later, Britannia stood in front of Arthur's door. He let himself in quietly, shutting the door behind him. It was pitch black in the room, but he still spied Arthur splayed out on the bed, ready for the taking. He smiled to himself. He'd been waiting for this time for a long time. It had been so hard to hold himself back, but he'd had to wait for the memory exchange to really take effect before he could go through with this, or there would be problems. Now that it had, they were both finally ready. He willed himself on top of Arthur, straddling the identical body underneath him. Arthur's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked as his clarity to him.

"Wh…huh?" Arthur stiffened beneath him. "Get off me!" Arthur vainly tried to push him off, and Britannia quickly pinned him to the bed. Arthur started panicking. "What are you doing? Get away from me!"

"You say that, but it's not what you really want, is it Arthur? We both know that." He roughly ground their hips together, and Arthur failed to hold in a husky moan. Arthur felt his face heat up, and his double chuckled down at him. "Should I do that again?" But he didn't give Arthur the opportunity to object as he rutted himself against the man beneath him, and Arthur moaned again, louder this time.

"S-stop! Whatever you're doing, stop!" He screamed.

"Why?" His double just laughed. "You like it. And you know it."

"Why are you doing this?" Arthur breathed out, trying to ignore his building arousal.

"Do you really want to know? Do you want to know everything, Arthur?"

Arthur hesitated. He was afraid to say yes. But his double didn't give him any other options. "Yes." He whispered. A pair of lips descended on his own, and he was lost again. He let the immense pleasure course through him, wondering what _this_ could possibly have to do with his double's plan. A tongue met his own, and he pressed back, lapping at it greedily. His double grunted and pulled back, face flushed. Arthur laid relaxed underneath him now, lost in a haze of mind-numbing arousal.

"Do you want to know what my plans are for us, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded slowly and arched his hips up to meet his double's, who groaned loudly. "Please tell me…" he whispered.

"No." His double whispered back. "Not tell. _Show._" Before Arthur could react, the man's forehead was pressed against his own. It was instantaneous. Arthur's mind failed to exist as a separate entity. Instead, between the two of them, there was only one mind. One, complete, full, endless, _infinite_ mind with memories that spanned _dimension_s. It was _perfection_. They thought. Both of them. Both of them thought. Together. Everything together. There was just one little, minute thing missing. All the memories since the exchange were fixed in their perfect mind, right where they were supposed to be. But that _one, little shard_ was still missing.

"_I…"_ They both started and stopped.

And then it clicked it to place. Britannia gave his last piece of individuality away, and space between them ceased to exist. Arthur's eyes widened at the revelation, the possibility he'd never thought of before. But then again, he had, he hadn't he? In their perfect mind were many, many instances of him thinking this exact scenario. They had been blurred to him before, but now they were clear, just like everything else.

"_We…"_ They started. _"Should we do this?"_ They wondered together. But there weren't real doubts left. Memories from Arthur's side flittered by, signaling that alone, he would've rejected this idea, but he wasn't alone. Not anymore. Never again. Now he was _perfect_.

"_Should we…?"_

Their eyes met again. And then they kissed.

_Yes._

_

* * *

_

"Matt."

Someone shook him by the shoulder.

"Matt, wake up."

He blearily blinked his eyes, coming back into an uncomfortable state of consciousness. He head hurt. His eyes burned. His throat was raw and dry. Above him, standing in the blinding light of morning, was Alfred, staring worriedly back down on him.

"Al…?"

Alfred smiled sadly and crouched down next to him. "Hey, you okay?" He rubbed Matthew's shoulder. "Why were you sleeping out here?"

"Out here…?"

He looked around, realizing he was still in the hallway that he'd broken down in the night before. The night before. He went rigid. Oh God, if it was morning, then that meant…

"Al, where's Britannia?"

"Huh?" Alfred looked baffled. "Why is that important? Is he the reason you were sleeping out here?"

Matthew wanted to punch Alfred in the face. His stupid brother had let himself get taken in by this bastard. He could see the confirmation of his fears in Alfred's eyes now. Alfred was lost to him. He was still acting like Alfred, but even if he didn't realize it, he had let himself fall under Britannia's influence. Matthew wanted to break down all over again. But he didn't even have time for that!

"Just tell me!" He shouted angrily, rising to his feet.

Alfred followed. "Um, I don't know. I _just_ got back. I was going to see if he was in his office to report back, and the I found you here."

Matthew felt sick at the fact that Alfred didn't seem to see anything wrong with "reporting back" to Britannia. But he managed to hold himself together. He grabbed Alfred's wrist and started dragging him along toward said office. "Fine. I'll come with you."

"Um…okay…" Alfred stared at him. "You're acting really weird today, Matt."

Matt grumbled. "I could say the same about you."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Just come on." He pulled Alfred along until they stood in front of the door to the office. Matthew hesitated, warring with himself on whether he really wanted to see what was behind that door or not. Alfred coughed.

"You going to go in or just stand there?" Before Matthew could protest, Alfred pushed the door open, revealing Britannia's large, silent office. For a brief moment, Matthew found relief in the idea that the man he thought would be there wasn't, but then he realized that the desk chair was turned around backward, facing the window, and that someone was indeed in it.

"Oh, boys." Said the cheery man in the chair. He waved a hand at them. "Come in! I've been expecting you." He rolled the chair to face them, smiling. Matthew's world crumbled around him. Alfred stared on, watching Matt's reaction confusedly, glancing back and forth from Britannia to his brother.

"What's going on?" Alfred asked warily.

"Oh, Alfred. I'm sorry. Of course you didn't know." Britannia smiled at him.

"Know what?" What was he missing? Then he realized. "Where's Arthur?"

"Ah, you see, that's what this is about. Both Britannia and Britain decided their current arrangement was inconvenient. So they decided it would be best to combine their powers in order to further their goals."

"I don't follow…"

"Arthur's gone…" Matt whispered, horrified.

"Huh? What do you mean?" He looked back to Britannia in the chair for clarification.

The man immediately nodded and kept on _smiling. _"Yes. He's correct. You see, when I say 'combine their powers,' I mean that quite literally. As in combine. Into one. One Arthur Kirkland, that is. The United Empire of Great Britannia and the United Kingdom, as of last night, have ceased to exist." He stood up, never dropping his _smile_. "There's just me now." He bowed. "I am Grand Britannia. And I'm very pleased to meet you."

* * *

**Dro: **-runs away in terror-

**Next Chapter: **Finally, we get back to Earth.


	40. After the Fall

**Dro: **Finally back on the ground. But don't worry. They won't be there too long. -wink- The usual drill now! Read and **review!**

**Chapter Summary:** Feliciano paces. Ivan walks. There's an unexpected encounter.

**Warnings: **Language, Violence

**Disclaimer: **Still poor, so no. Obviously.

* * *

He paced. He was always pacing these days, it seemed. His feet took him from one side of the room and back again over and over. At some points, he lost all sense of time and direction, and all that existed to him was the subtle swaying motions of going back and forth, back and forth. Pacing was what he had done when they'd imprisoned him after Alfred's "betrayal," claiming he _must_ have been in on it. But they had no evidence to back up their accusation, and Feliciano wasn't talking, so they'd been forced to let him go. Not that they could really hold him anyway. He had _let_ them stick him in a prison cell. If he'd wanted to, he could've blown up the building and walked away without a scratch. He'd grown stronger now. A lot stronger.

Now he spent most of his time alone in his room or alone outside, walking in the fields of grass nearby. They had moved to a very secluded area now, framed by mountains capped in snow. They were beautiful to look at when the day was clear, so he would pace along the perimeters of the fields too. Pacing. All it was to him was a way to wait without sitting still. He couldn't sit still anymore, no matter how hard he tried. He fidgeted to much, twitched to much. His mind thought too much—far too much—about Alfred. Alfred. He hadn't heard or seen anything of Alfred in almost three weeks. The subsequent days since the attack had been deathly silent, and Feliciano's worry grew everyday.

What would he see next time Alfred appeared? A crazed killer? A broken doll? Both? England's influence on him had been strong even in the beginning, and now, it had been three weeks. Would there even be anything left of Alfred? Feliciano's doubt grew greater and greater every day. Some mornings he would wake screaming at the top of the lungs, plagued by vivid nightmares of Alfred murdering them all. Lovino was worried about him now. So was Gilbert. Everyone else just gazed at him suspiciously.

Right now, he knew, there was a meeting going on, one he hadn't been told about. They rarely told him about meetings these days. As far as most of them were concerned, he was a liability, and possibly, just a spy working for England. Of course, he had expected a response similar to this in the beginning, when Alfred's plan had still been intact, but he hadn't expected this degree of distrust. He was sure he could convince them he hadn't known. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

He wrung his hands. Maybe it was time for another walk.

He slipped out of his room and down the hall, passing precariously close to the meeting. He paused briefly as he heard his name whispered through the door, and he leaned against the wood. He pursed his lips. They were talking about him again, considering throwing back him in prison (because apparently, they just didn't understand that he had more than enough magic to escape). That idea was followed by a series of swears and loud shots from Lovino and Gilbert. Apparently, nothing had changed since yesterday.

He was out of the base and in the field before anyone could stop him. Technically, they were supposed to. He, specifically, wasn't allowed off base. But it wasn't like they could've prevented him from leaving even if they tried. He could just teleport right past them. Which is how he usually got here. He stood still for a moment, watching the cool winds sway the grass in gorgeous, flowing waves. Feliciano glanced up at the mountains. It was hazy today, and the peaks weren't visible. He made to start pacing again.

"You are not supposed to be out here." It wasn't a harsh accusation. No, just an observation. Feliciano turned to look at the man behind him. Ivan's coat rippled in the wind, his hair flying into his face.

"You say that every time." And he did. He was _always_ out here when Feliciano was, always somewhere in the field, staring forlornly up at the sky. Ivan was terrified for Matthew's safety, and he and Feliciano had found they had something in common when it came to the North American brothers.

"I know." Ivan walked up to him, and they fell into line with one another, taking a slow stroll through the dirt pathways that cut through the lush field grass. "You have heard nothing?"

Ivan said that every day too. Feliciano shook his head like usual. "Nothing at all."

Ivan closed his eyes. "Do you think that…?" He could never finish that sentence, even though he tried _that_ every day too. Feliciano knew the unspoken words by heard. _Do you think that they are dead? _And his answer was always the same.

"No. But death and insanity are two different things. Just because they're alive doesn't mean they're well." At some point, over a week ago now, Feliciano had let Ivan in on Alfred's obviously failed plan. Ivan had been angry, angry that Feliciano had not told them earlier, angry that Alfred had been such a fool. But then he'd calmed down. And then he'd degraded into his current state.

"Matvey…do you think they've done something to him?"

Feliciano could only shrug his shoulders. "I couldn't say. It's just as likely he's been corrupted as it is they've thrown in a cell and left him to rot. I wouldn't take chances on either one, honestly. There's just too many possibilities." He gazed back up at the mysteriously hidden peaks. "For all we know, he's one of them now. Or he could be himself, trapped up there and terrified."

Ivan seemed to contemplate this sadly. "I suppose I can only hope for the latter then. As much as it pains me to see Matvey scared…it would destroy me to see him warped in that way."

Feliciano smiled up at him, understanding. "I know exactly what you mean. I wonder everyday if Alfred is even still Alfred, or if…" He swallowed. "I just wonder if he's okay, you know?"

"Why wouldn't I be okay? I am _me_ after all."

They froze. Their eyes met each other's in the brief second before they whipped around the face the body that far-too-familiar voice belonged to. Alfred stood just behind them, smug grin adorning his face. Feliciano didn't care about the grin though. There was only one thing he focused on, and that was Alfred's eyes. _Dio…Alfred…what's happened to you?_ Alfred's eyes were the same blue. They were the same shape. The same size. But they were so _different_ somehow. Feliciano couldn't even place the reason, but the feelings that burned through his veins when he looked into Alfred's eyes were…_terrifying_. There was a subtle gleam there, something deep and fathomless, something utterly _chaotic_ and unintelligible. Something that looked so much like…but that couldn't be…Alfred couldn't be…Not this. Anything but this. Alfred, of all people, couldn't be…

Insane.

But that's what stood in front of him now. A cracked, insane man wearing Alfred's face, smiling at them deceptively, wild and untamed. Feliciano found himself unable to move a muscle. Alfred's presence felt so _foreign_. It didn't even feel like the same man. At all. It was like someone else was wearing Alfred's form, speaking with his voice. And never in Feliciano's life had been so scared at a revelation.

"Alfred…" Ivan whispered, eyes wide and stunned. "You…" Feliciano could tell that Ivan had come to the exact same conclusion.

"Hmm?" Alfred blinked innocently. "I what?"

Ivan coughed. "Are…are you alright?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "What kind of question is that? Of course I am. I just told you, I'm _me_, remember?"

"Yes, I remember, but…"

"But what?"

"You just…you do not look like yourself. You are not acting like yourself." But then again, Alfred _was_ acting like himself. Freakishly like himself. So like himself that it was horrifying to watch. Alfred _shouldn't_ have been acting like himself in this situation, and he hadn't been up until this point. He hadn't been the typical "hero" Alfred for a long time—not since this entire crisis started—but that was what stood in front of them now. A horribly warped version of that hero.

"Huh? What do you mean? I'm acting just like me." Alfred smiled. Fake. Cracked. Skewed. Just _not right_.

"Alfred, what has been going on? Why have you betrayed us?"

"Hmm? Oh. Well…"

"It was supposed to be a ploy…" Feliciano murmured. He swallowed, his throat dry. "You were supposed to pretend to join the enemy in order to get information and…and sabotage them, but…" He could hardly bear to look at Alfred now. "But, I don't think…This isn't an act, is it, Alfred?" It had never hurt this much to say so few words.

Alfred's hair whipped around in the wind, golden strands caressing his face. He pouted. "That depends. I'm still not sure why you two are freaking out so much."

"Alfred." Ivan growled. "You have _joined_ the _enemy_."

"Oh, well, yeah." He shrugged. "Arthur said it would end up that way eventually." He seemed to consider this. "You know, I think I disagreed at first, but I'm not sure why."

The cool wind sudden felt frigid to Feliciano. _What_ had happened on that ship? What could possibly make Alfred _truly_ join the enemy? Feliciano could nothing short of ripping out of Alfred's soul. Or his mind. He wasn't sure which idea pained him more.

"Why? Perhaps you disagreed because that would make you a traitor. Because you would be selling us to the enemy, sentencing us, your allies, to death. Have you thought of that?" Ivan was shaking in rage. But Feliciano could plainly see it wasn't _for_ Alfred. It was for whoever had done _this_ to him, perverted Alfred in this way.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah. I know."

"Then _why?_ Why betray us?"

He shrugged. "Because I want to? Does it matter? I'm not your ally anymore." Alfred smiled, so _normal_. _Too_ normal. "But I _am_ your friend. You and Feliciano's, that is. That's why I'm here."

Feliciano got a very, _very_ bad feeling. "What are you planning?"

"Me? Nothing."

"What is _Arthur_ planning?" Ivan tried.

"Yeah…see…" Alfred scratched the back of his head. "That's the thing. He wants to finish taking over the world and all, right? So he figures it's time to off the rest of you because you're in his way." Feliciano wasn't sure what scared him more. That all their deaths were imminent, or that Alfred didn't seem to _care_, at all, about that. "But, because I care about you two…well, I care about _you_, Feliciano. I honestly don't give a fuck about you, Ivan, but Mattie does, so…anyway, I came to warn you two. You should probably get out of here before tomorrow at noon." He stopped and smiled again.

There really weren't words to describe this situation. Ivan and Feliciano stood side by side, shocked beyond coherency not only at Alfred's behavior but also the devastating news he was delivering to them. England was coming to finish them all off. Tomorrow. They were _all_ going to die. And there was no way they could all escape in time, not if the enemy knew their location. They would be tracked. They were doomed. All of them.

Alfred didn't seem the least bit bothered. "Wow, you two look a little pale. You okay?"

Ivan snapped. "What do you fucking think, Alfred? You are selling our lives to the enemy! You do not seem to care at all that we will _die_. Weeks ago, you were intimately concerned with all our wellbeing. And now…now you are _heartless_. What has happened to you?"

Alfred seemed taken aback. "Hey, whoa! Calm down, big guy. I already said I care about you. Well, Feli, but still! I'm warning you, aren't I?"

"You're warning _us_ and letting everyone else perish ignorantly. That is _not_ what America would do. Ever." Feliciano replied gravely.

Something seemed to shift in Alfred. "Well, gee, if that's you feel, Feli, then forget I said anything. You can die right along with them if you _want_. I figured that wasn't what you wanted, but if it is, go right ahead." His voice kept getting lower. "Do whatever the fuck you want." He turned away from them, waving his hand in dismissal. "Arthur's going to win one way or the other, whether you live, or whether you die. Take your pick."

"Death." Feliciano replied without hesitating.

Alfred stiffened, his hand frozen in the air. It slowly sank to his side, and he seemed to slouch slightly. "Then so be it." Malice. Pure and utter malice.

Feliciano had no time to react. He blinked and a metal fence pole was shooting toward his face. He barely had time to tense. Something heavy crashed into him, and he went down, the back of his head slamming into the compacted dirt. He clenched his eyes shut, coughing as the wind rushed from his lungs, his ribs aching at the harsh impact.

Something wet and warm dripped onto his face. His eyes sprung open, only to latch onto to the shocked face of the man hovering over him. Ivan's eyes were wide, his mouth, leaking with blood, hanging open. Feliciano stared into his stunned violet eyes for several seconds, uncomprehending. Then it hit him. His eyes trailed slowly down to Ivan's chest.

Where the pole was protruding from between his ribs.

"I-Ivan…"

"Ah…" He collapsed.

Feliciano caught him, laying him gently on his side. The pole stuck at awkward angle through Ivan's back and out of his chest, and Feliciano had no idea if it had hit anything vital. "You…" His hands were shaking. "You saved my life."

Ivan didn't reply, but he sadly smiled at up Feliciano, his unfocused eyes gazing past him. Feliciano whipped around. Alfred was gone. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream until he was hoarse. He turned back to Ivan. "I'm going to teleport you back to the base, okay? Just _hold_ _on_, please!"

Ivan nodded slightly. Feliciano lifted the injured man into his arms as best he could, hoping to God he wasn't hurting Russia any worse. He spied the base in the distance and concentrated on it. The next moment he was there, by the door, and a second later he was rushing the hallway toward the medical ward. He kicked the emergency department doors open. "Someone help me!"

The medical staff froze for a fraction of a shocking second, then they moved. Doctors and nurses ran over to him, helped him lift Ivan gently onto a gurney. And then he was gone. Feliciano followed them until they disappeared into surgery, and he was left standing there, numb, unsure of what to do. Did he scream now? Break down here surrounded by doctors and nurses that would sedate him? Cry hysterically? Let himself crack just like Alfred had? He wanted to do all those things and more.

"_Fratello?"_

He slowly turned to face his brother and the other nations rushing in behind him. Lovino stopped dead as soon as he got within five feet of him. Feliciano dimly realized he was covered in Ivan's blood. He said nothing, just stared off at nothing as all eyes fell on him, some worried, some terrified, some _suspicious._

"Feliciano…what _happened_?" Lovino said shakily. Feliciano could only shake his head. Lovino shuffled forward, reaching his hands out but afraid to touch his bloody brother. "Are you hurt?"

Feliciano shook his head.

"S-say something, will you? The guards just called in and said that you came back…that you came back…"

"Holding a mortally wounded Russia, aru." Yao finished. He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. "Would you like to tell us what happened?"

There was only one thing Feliciano could think to say.

"We lost."

* * *

**Dro: **No comment.

**Next Chapter: **Feliciano attempts the unexpected. Lovino is awed. Feliciano says the impossible. The world is awed.


	41. The Smoking Gun I

**Dro: **In case anyone missed it, the sequel to **A Crack in the Looking Glass** has started, so I'm returning to three day updates, okay? Other than that, just the usual drill. Read and **review!** And also, if anyone can draw, has time, and likes me enough, I'd _love_ some **art** for this fic. I've received art for **Solemnity** and **A Crack in the Looking Glass** (which I love, by the way), but I really want some art of Britannia. Because that would be _awesome_, and I would love you forever. And maybe I would write you a _one shot_. Or take a _request_? Hm?

**Chapter Summary: **Feliciano reveals the truth. The nations deal. Feliciano does something amazing. The nations can't deal. Feliciano says something incredible. The nations freak out.

**Warnings: **None...?

**Disclaimer: **The usual.

* * *

Feliciano told them everything. From the beginning of Alfred's plan to his own uncertainty in the fight against them at the destruction of their last base to what had happened with Ivan just hours ago. He spoke uninterrupted, the crowd of nations in the room shocked, stunned, and scared into silence. All who had thought America was initially a traitor felt guilt and sorrow at what was, in reality, a much bigger loss than they'd first imagined. Lovino felt numb. He couldn't imagine seeing the Alfred that his brother was describing. Even when Alfred had been brutally beating him in the last battle, Lovino had still been able to see through the act. He lacked the ability to picture an America that was truly the enemy.

But Feliciano was convinced of it now. And it made Lovino's chest hurt more and more every second. To think his brother had actually lost _another_…He couldn't even finish the idea. It hurt him too much. He tapped his fingers idly on the table in front of him as he listened to Feliciano's last few words. His younger brother sat with his hands in his lap, eyes staring blankly at the table in front of him. No one would blame him for anything now, Lovino knew. They would yell and cry and whisper about Alfred's stupidity (using false anger to cover their sorrow), but no one would touch his _fratello_ again on this subject. And if anyone tried, he would end it himself before it ever began.

Of course, there was a far more pressing concern than Alfred's fall to the enemy. It was Alfred's message. The enemy was coming to end this for good. All of them. And they had no way to escape. They could try running, sure, but how far could they actually get? If England could find them again and again, he could surely track them down if they tried to run, right? He had too many resources, too much power. They weren't going to escape this time. Lovino felt dread clench his heart. They were in trouble now. They'd been biding their time, idle, no one really trying to come up with a plan of counterattack after the devastation that had already been inflicted upon them. And now they would regret it. They had no defense against England and his henchmen. He and Feliciano could only do so much. They might've been able to fend off Siphone and Lucaster, but they wouldn't be defeating Alfred. And if England himself showed up…

The crowd around him began whispering amongst themselves, and Lovino decided he needed to leave the stuffy room for some air. He shot up out of his seat and marched off, ignoring Gilbert's question about where he was going. Of course the man would end up following him anyway, and five minutes later, as he leaned against the side of the building, hidden from the sun by the building's shadow, Gilbert finally caught up.

"You alright, Lovi?"

"Are any of us alright, Gilbert?"

Gilbert settled next to him against the wall. "Not anymore, I guess."

"I'm getting the feeling we never really had a chance from the beginning." He murmured.

"Don't talk like that. Nothing is ever concrete when it comes to war."

"What about when it comes to genocide?"

Gilbert sighed. "Look, Lovino. I know this looks pretty bad right now, our situation. But we can't resign ourselves to death. I mean, I'm not going to lie. I think a lot of us will die in the very near future, but that doesn't mean we should all just sit down and let it pass. We can't just give up our world without a fight. Even if we die in the end anyway, at least we can say we went down valiantly, defending our people."

"And then what? This world becomes _his_."

Gilbert shrugged. "This world will never be his. No matter how long we're dead and gone, there will always be remnants of us, reminding him that he took what was not his to take, plaguing him. Whether it's our land themselves or our people or our fucking ghosts, we will haunt him until the day he dies. That I can assure you of."

Lovino allowed himself to smirk. "So let me get this straight. We fight. We die. And…we keep fighting?"

"Damn straight."

"Sounds like a typical one of your plans."

"Eh? What's that supposed to me?"

"Nothing at all." But Lovino couldn't contain his smile anymore.

"You little…!" Gilbert whipped around Lovino's body and pressed their lips together. Lovino kissed him back without hesitation. It didn't last long. Roderich rushed around the corner just as they were getting into it, spouting out quickly that Ivan was out of surgery while he tried to hide a rising blush. The two of them broke apart and followed the man back inside, quickly walking toward the medical ward. They arrived to see a crowd already gathering, nervous countries murmuring about Ivan's condition.

Lovino honed in on his brother and was at his side in seconds. "What did the doctor say?"

"He's stable." Feliciano muttered. "But it might take him a while to heal. Russia's been receiving heavy damage from the air raids lately. His healing rate is stunted."

"Fuck." Lovino swore. Of all the non-magic endowed people to lose just before an attack, it _had_ to the be the person closest to America's strength, didn't it? Any slim chance of a fight they'd had to begin with had evaporated. Lovino growled under his breath, cursing that fucker England. Then he noticed the look on Feliciano's face. "What's wrong?"

"It should've been me."

"What?"

"I should've been hurt, not him."

Lovino cringed. Feliciano had told them all that Ivan had taken the hit for him, but… "_Fratello,_ don't blame yourself. Ivan did that of his own accord."

"I know. But it was Alfred's attack, and it was meant for me. He shouldn't be suffering for it." There was a spark of subtle determination in his eyes, hinting at an idea Lovino was not aware of. When his brother started walking toward the doctors outside Ivan's room, Lovino just watched wide-eyed. _What are you doing, Feli?_

A few moments later, the nervous looking doctors let Feliciano into the room, and the crowd suddenly went silent.

"What's he doing?" Someone whispered.

Lovino vaguely realized the question was aimed at him, but he had nothing to say. He knew nothing. Not until he felt the magic begin to pulsate from the room. He went rigid, immediately realizing what Feliciano was trying to do. "You idiot…" Then he was running, pushing the doctors out of the way. He marched into the room and slammed the door behind him, holding it shut mentally. He ignored the pounding and shouting, his eyes locking onto the show in the middle of the room.

Feliciano's entire body shook from the stress, his hands pressed against Ivan's chest. Ivan slept soundly on, unaware of what was going on around him. Lovino could only stare in shock. Feliciano had cut Ivan's bandages open, revealing the stitched up vicious looking wound near the center of his chest. Lovino couldn't bring himself to move a muscle as the wound began to visibly heal itself right before his eyes. Less than a minute later, it was gone, and all that remained were a few useless stitches sitting on the outside of his skin.

Feliciano released a breath, sweat rolling down his face.

Then he collapsed.

"Feli!" Lovino was across the room, arms wrapped around his brother, before Feliciano ever hit the floor. His brother was limp in his hold, and Lovino started to panic. He checked for a pulse and was relieved to find Feliciano's still going strong, if not too fast and erratic. He sat there on the floor for several seconds, just holding Feliciano gently in his arms. He hadn't expected his _fratello_ to try something that stupid! They had been working on things like healing, sure, but neither of them had actually accomplished anything. For all Feliciano had known, this move could've backfired and _killed_ him.

A groan startled him. He glanced up at the hospital bed, catching sight of Ivan's large body slowly starting to move. "Russia?" He mumbled.

"Hmm?" Russia suddenly sat up, gasping, his hands tightly gripping the sheets. A wild stare honed in on Lovino but softened as he got a good look at the scene in front of him. He took a few deep breaths, brushing one of his hands across his bare chest, across the completely unmarred skin. He reached over and felt his back, only to apparently find only the same. He looked confused. "What has happened?"

"You…Feliciano…he healed you."

"Healed? With magic?"

Lovino nodded. "I…I don't know how he did it. He just…"

"Is he okay?"

"I…I guess. I don't know. He passed out after he was finished."

Ivan swung his legs off the bed and stood up, stretching. Then he bent down and grabbed Feliciano. Lovino reluctantly let the other man take his brother and watched him keenly as the Russian placed his brother on the bed in his place. "His vital signs are good, da?"

"Yes. He seems to be alright. I'm guessing it was just a drain on his energy."

Ivan nodded. "Very well." He straightened himself again. "By the way, what is that banging outside of the door?"

Lovino bit his lip. Oops. He'd forgotten about them. He released his hold on the door, and five nations tumbled through, landing in a heap. Gilbert cursed. Vash threatened. Antonio whined. Francis moaned in pain. Sweden, who was on top of the pile, said nothing. When they'd all righted themselves, most of them just stared silently in awe at the towering—and completely unharmed—Russian in front of them.

"But…you…" Gilbert stumbled over his words, his eyes slowly sliding over the unconscious Feliciano. "Did…did Feli _heal_ you?"

Ivan just smiled. "So it appears, da?"

No one had anything else to say after that.

* * *

Feliciano rolled over in his bed, willing himself back to unconsciousness. He was incredibly tired, and he just wanted _sleep_. Then he remembered. He bolted up, blinking at the white room around him. "Where…?"

"You healed me, da?" He turned to see Ivan standing in the doorway.

"I…succeeded?"

The Russian nodded. "You did. I was quite impressed. Afraid it took a lot of you though. We didn't want to disturb you, so we just left you here to rest."

"Ah. I see." He couldn't look Ivan in the eye.

"I owe you, little Italy. That was quite a big favor you have done for me."

"Huh?" He stared at the man. "You _saved_ my _life_, Ivan. You owe me nothing."

"Is that so?" He shrugged. "Well, I will still let the offer of a favor stand if you decide to change your mind at any time in the future." He wave, backing out the door and disappearing down the hallway. Feliciano could only blink, confused. _What is up with that guy?_

Ten minutes later, Feliciano found himself in the meeting room, all eyes on him. Gilbert was the first to address him. "Feeling better, Feli?"

"Yeah…" Everyone kept staring at him, and it was starting to creep him out. "What's up?" They were all looking at him with expressions of pure awe. "What did I do?"

"You _healed_ someone." Antonio answered. "That's _amazing_, Feli."

Feliciano wasn't sure what to say that it, and he was starting to get a sinking feeling that they would be expecting repeats of his "amazing" new ability in the near future. But he kept his mouth shut. There had been a lot of animosity directed toward him lately, and he didn't want to stir up anymore negative emotions. They didn't need to be fighting each other, especially at a time like this.

"So, what have we decided to do?"

The room went silent. After several seconds, Francis decided to answer. "What can we do? We have two options, fight or run. If we run, most of us will probably die in the fray. If we fight, _all_ of us will."

Running. Dying. Were those really their only options? Feliciano clenched his fists. "You're wrong."

All eyes were on him again.

"What's happened to us? What is it that's made us all give up so easily?" No one answered. "I mean it. Where did our courage go? Our drive to survive and prosper? Is this all it really takes to defeat us? Some attacks? Some betrayals?" He felt a pang in his chest. "Some losses? We can't just _give up_. This is our _planet_, not a simple war. If we lose this, we lose _everything._" His voice rose in volume with every word.

"Well, what is it exactly you suggest we do, Feliciano-san?" Kiku asked.

"Well, tomorrow, they're coming here to attack us, right?"

"According to you and Ivan, yes." Gilbert narrowed his eyes, still not seeing where this was going.

"Then let's attack them first."

The room broke out into senseless noise.

Feliciano growled. "Listen to me!"

They did.

"We only have one more chance. We either die tomorrow or we fight. So let's fight. They expect us to run, you know? It's what we've been doing since this began. So tomorrow, we'll surprise them. Instead of just fleeing like we're terrified cowards, let's attack them. _There."_

"There?" Lovino aksed.

"Yes. There. At their base. The airship over Barcelona. Let's fly there. In jets. And infiltrate it. Then we'll fight."

"Are…are you insane?" Sadik exclaimed.

"No. I'm Italy Veneziano. And this place is my home. This is my _world_. And I'm going to defend it or die trying." He turned toward the door. "And if any of you truly care about your countries and your people, then you'll come with me." And then he was gone.

* * *

**Dro: **Ooh, keep packing on the powers, boys. You'll need them in...the next chapter.

**Next Chapter: **Feliciano waits alone to hear the other nations' decision.


	42. The Smoking Gun II

**Dro: **Winding down to the epic battle! Finally! By the way, to everyone who drew me **fanart** after my request in the last chapter, _thank you very much!_ By the way, there's a great scene in this chapter (that continues into next chapter) that would make a great fanart piece -hint hint-. No really, I wish I could draw itself. Anyway, the usual drill, eh? Please read and **review**!

**Important Announcement!**

I created a forum for this story because I get a lot of questions that I know many people want answers to. If you have a question, go ask me there (Go to my _profile_ then click _My forums_; it's the only forum on there). I will answer you as best I can (read: as long as it doesn't spoil anything). Then, I figured, if someone has a question, they can go to my **World Powers Forum** and see if the question has been answered. If not, you can ask it yourself.

Also,_ feel free to post discussion threads_. Anyone can post anything as long as it's about World Powers. Pairings, plot points, predictions, etc.

Lastly, if anyone wants a **Wonderverse** (that is, **A Crack in the Looking Glass** and **In the Shadow of Wonderland**) forum, do tell me, and I'll create one. I have a feeling there'd be a lot of discussion for that one.

**Chapter Summary: **Feliciano waits for the verdict on his plan. He gets more than he bargained for.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer: **How long before I don't need to post this?

* * *

He hadn't really been sure what to expect. He'd left everyone stunned and scared in the meeting room the day prior, and so far, no one had shown up to meet him. He stood in the empty lot, gazing up at the deceptively bright and clear sky. This was not going to be a very bright day in history, no matter what the outcome. If they really chose to run, then Feliciano would almost guarantee that most of them would be dead by the end of the day. Granted, with his last ditch-effort plan, the odds weren't much different. But at least he would go down _fighting_ instead of running. That was all that mattered to him at this point. He refused to return to cowering in fear like he had in the past.

But so far, no one else had shown up to back him, not even Lovino. He knew he should've discussed this plan with his brother before blurting it out to everyone, but he'd been too emotionally charged at the time. He crossed his arms, letting his mind wander toward Barcelona. What was happening on that airship now? Was Alfred continuing to degrade further into his insanity? Was Matthew suffering the same fate? And what of England? Could he _really_ be happy about this? Proud of what he'd done? Feliciano didn't know England very well, but he though he knew the man _enough_ to know he wouldn't betray them all like this. Then again, maybe his entire demeanor was a lie. Maybe he'd been wearing a mask to hide the monster inside him.

It seemed so unlikely though. Feliciano couldn't help but think there was more to this than they knew about. _Something_ was being kept from them. Something important. But he couldn't, for the life of himself, figure out what it was. He'd been contemplating this for weeks now, and he'd drawn a blank. He—

"Feliciano."

He turned, spying Ivan standing a few feet from him. Feliciano's lips parted slightly in awe as he looked over the towering Russian. Ivan's tan coat hung open, revealing that he was _heavily_ armed, guns of all sizes and shapes strapped to him from chest to feet.

"You…" Feliciano wasn't even sure what conclusion to come to. "You're fighting?"

Ivan nodded. "We all are."

Feliciano's eyes widened, a feeling of pride swelling up inside himself as he caught sight of the other nations beginning to file out of the building, all of them armed to a tee. Elizaveta winked at him when she caught him staring, and Lovino and Gilbert flashed smiles. Some of them looked less than enthused, but they all looked determined. Sweden towered over most of the crowd, face drawn into a stern scowl. But his eyes were on fire, burning with an intense desire that Feliciano identified as pure vengeance.

They were _actually_ going to fight. They were actually going to follow him into the lion's den and fight a death match with a far more powerful enemy. Feliciano could only stare, fighting back tears. He'd honestly thought that they were going to…

"Feli," Gilbert started. "We got those jets you called for in route. You should get ready." He winked.

Feliciano smiled. _Really_ smiled. He nodded. "Right away."

Ten minutes later, he found himself suiting up with the same amount of weapons as everyone else. They were going all out for this. It was, after all, their last chance. It was do or die. Well, even if they _did_, they would likely still die, but if they died on that airship, they were going down fighting. And that was really what mattered in the end, wasn't it? That they died fighting for their world as opposed to dying in shame and cowardess?

When he finished, he met everyone back at the landing strip. He could see the jets approaching in the distance. There was an entire fleet of them, more than would be necessary to carry the group of nations that was assembled here. He felt a pang in his chest. That could only mean that more humans would be dying today. No doubt the nations had informed their bosses about this plan, and the other jets had to be to distract any enemy planes that emerged during their infiltration. A lot of people would die today. But then again, he rationalized, a lot of people were dying every day, and this was their last chance to stop that cycle.

He looked over the entire group. All the present Asian nations stood together: China, Japan, Taiwan, Thailand, Hong Kong, Korea…They looked to be telling each other their last goodbyes. Feliciano realized that's what most people were doing. Belarus and Ukraine were clinging to Russia. Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, and Poland were gathered together in a muddled embrace. Turkey and Greece were _actually_ speaking to each other without yelling. Spain and France had their arms around each other's shoulders, chuckling softly and smiling sadly as they reminisced. Feliciano spotted Lovino off around the side of the building, lips pressed in a desperate last kiss against Gilbert's.

He looked away, giving them their privacy. The Nordics were all huddled near the wall of the building. Sweden stared stoically out at nothing. Denmark stood next to him, almost equally stoic for once in his life. Norway and Iceland both looked completely solemn. Feliciano's eyes kept roaming. Belgium had her head resting against Netherland's arm. Elizaveta and Roderich were holding each other and whispering. Vash held his sister (who obviously wouldn't be going) in a tight embrace. They were all resigning themselves to whatever end befell them, Feliciano knew. He sucked in a deep breath and continued to stand alone, eyes idly watching the jets as they prepared to land.

"Feliciano?" Ivan had walked over to him. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." He lied. He was as ready as he would ever be, but that didn't mean he was actually ready for this. He would never be ready for _this_.

"Hmm. How do you think this will end?" Ivan put his hands behind his back, gaze lingering on the blue sky.

Feliciano sighed. "Honestly? Death. Loss. Devastation. That's all I see when I think of the outcome. But when I look at all our other options, I see the exact same things."

Ivan pursed his lips. "As do I."

"Do you think this is worth it?"

"Da." Ivan sounded completely confident. "I would much rather we do something like this than run like cowards."

Feliciano smiled bitterly. "I guess we see eye to eye then, huh?"

* * *

The enemy airship had yet to make a response. They were approaching Barcelona rapidly, a few of them stowed in the back of each jet. They were in a protective formation, the jets not carrying nations poised to attack any enemy fighters that happened to appear. So far, everything was quite. _Too_ quiet. He knew with the way England was strategizing that this meant he was up to something now, so Feliciano kept eyes pealed, watching and _sensing_ for any signs of an oncoming attack.

The plan to actually get them onto the airship was kind of complicated but necessary. They couldn't safely eject themselves from the jets onto the ships, so the most viable way to get them all there was teleportation. Feliciano had a clear view via cameras of all the jets. He had gotten good enough at teleportation to use mental pictures alone to teleport himself to a place (as long as it was within a certain range). So had Lovino. They would be rapidly shifting from jet to jet, grabbing everyone and teleporting them to strategic areas on the exterior of the ship, from which each group should be able to find an entrance.

It was a tricky plan, and it would have to go off without a hitch, or there would be some hefty casualties right at the beginning of the mission that they really couldn't afford by this point. Feliciano felt understandable anxiety. If he screwed this up, he would assure their defeat. He kept his eyes peeled for any sign of movement, but there was nothing to see except the airship floating in the distance. And that only made him more nervous. What was England waiting for? Where was his carefully laid trap?

The jet jolted sharply. He went down, along with Ivan and Francis, his head bumping against the floor. Elizaveta and Roderich managed to hold themselves up by the walls. He immediately scrambled back to his feet as he heard the pilot issue a distress call.

They were under attack.

But they weren't close enough to teleport. Not yet. They needed to get slightly closer. He spent the next few seconds holding his breath, eyes honing in on the drop point for the other nations around him. In his periphery, through the cockpit of the plane, he could see an army of enemy fighters above and below them, coming in the for kill.

"Feliciano?" Ivan whispered.

"Just a little more." He was _almost_ there. Just a few more seconds. They ticked by slower than they ever had before.

But they did pass.

"Now!" Everyone clung to him, and he concentrated on that one single point, pulling everyone along with him as he will himself through space toward it. They landed with a hard thump on the landing of a metal service staircase. They all stood, shaky in the intense wind. Feliciano ordered them, "Go!" They all nodded and went without question, climbing up the steps toward the door.

He whipped back around to take in the air battle just starting behind. He located his next jet, picked its picture out of his recent memory, and willed himself there. He appeared right next to Iceland, who jumped at his sudden appearance. "Ready?" He yelled. All the Nordics nodded, grabbed tightly onto him. And then he was down again.

As the Nordics filed inside the airship through some sort of emergency exit, Feliciano eyed the quickly worsening situation. They'd already lost three fighters, and the ones containing his friends and allies were being threatened more and more every second. Feliciano felt Lovino's magic signature as his brother appeared on the roof of the airship a few stories above him with several nations in tow. Just two more groups left. Feliciano willed himself onto the jet with most of the Asian nations on it. It had already taken some damage, and there was the distinct smell of smoke on the inside.

Yao and Kiku immediately grabbed onto him, followed suit by Hong Kong and Korea. Feliciano heard the pilot shout as a missile headed straight for them. He wished more than anything he could save all the pilots, but he couldn't. He didn't have the time. He didn't have the power. He clenched his eyes shut, ignoring the ache in his chest as he willed everyone clinging him to the "safety" of the enemy's airship.

He turned as soon as they landed, seeing if he could possibly go back and save…but it was too late. The jet they'd just been on had exploded into flames and was sinking toward the Earth. Feliciano bit his lip, harder and harder, until a hand landed on his shoulder. It was Kiku.

"Feliciano-san. The pilots are all volunteers. And they came here knowing they would most likely die. Do not let their sacrifices be in vain. We must keep going."

He nodded grimly, willing himself away back to the service stairs as soon as he felt Lovino arrive with the last group containing Turkey, Greece, Taiwan, and Thailand. He climbed them and wrenched open the door, rushing into the ship. The door slammed closed behind him from the force of the wind, and he was met with something he hadn't been expecting.

Absolute silence.

He stood completely still, his eyes moving back and forth, scanning the seemingly empty hallway. He had told the others he would catch up with them as soon as he finished, so of course they were gone by now. But he had expected to find…well…_resistance_ to their infiltration. Where were the guards? The soldiers? Where was the counter attack? There was no way England didn't know they were here. That was absurd.

So where was everyone? Where was all the expected action? Where was—?

"Feliciano."

He jumped, whipping around to face Ivan, who was peeking around the corner. As soon the man confirmed it was him, he stepped out from his hiding place.

"Ivan? Where is everyone?"

He trudged over to Feliciano, looking just as confused as Feliciano felt. "We expected to be confronted by guards of some sort, but no one approached us. We weren't sure how to proceed, so I told them split into smaller groups and carefully search for a few minutes. They should return soon. I told them not to stray too far and to retreat back here if anyone attacked them."

Feliciano nodded. "Good idea. I was wondering why we didn't get attacked either. Have you searched everywhere?"

He shook his head and pointed to another hallway. "That's the only one I haven't been down. We can check it quickly." Feliciano trailed behind him. The hallway was lined with rooms, most of which were locked. Feliciano could've gotten inside them, but he sensed no other living thing behind the doors, and he told Ivan as much.

"I really don't think there's anyone here. At least not in this area."

"This is strange, da?"

"Very." He was growing more and more concerned by the unearthly silence every second until…

He heard something.

"Let us go back to the starting—"

"Sh!" He replied. Ivan went silent, watching him with a questioning gaze. "Do you hear that?"

Ivan listened more closely, his eyes widening a fraction. "Yes, I do. It almost sounds like…"

"Music."

They looked at each other. And then they were off, rounding a corner at the end of the hallway and dashing toward the source of the mysterious tune. They skidded to a halt at a door, behind which Feliciano could clearly feel the presence of two different people. Two different people he recognized.

"Ivan…" He whispered, swallowing tightly. "It's…in there…It's…"

The door swung slowly open by its own volition, the music immediately pouring out into the hallway. It was a slow, orchestral piece, accented with high piano notes and a soft-toned violin. And within the room itself, the lavish room with its gorgeous red carpet and gold accents, were two people dressed in white. They were completely _pure_ white down to their knees, where they each wore a pair of polished and sleek black boots. Their left hands were intimately laced together, and their rights were occupied in two different locations. One hand rested gently on the other man's waist. The other hand rested on his opposite's shoulder.

They moved gracefully about to the music, spinning and sliding across the floor with flawless movements. Feliciano could only stair in petrified awe at the two men in front of him as their two heads of soft golden hair bobbed gracefully with the music. Ivan found himself unable to breathe as he watched them twirl around the room, completely oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. Feliciano couldn't understand what he was seeing. And neither could Ivan. Neither man could even begin to grasp the meaning of the sight in front him. They stood for what felt like an eternity, watching the two men move swiftly and expertly. Neither said anything. Neither could think of anything to say.

So they just continued to watch as Alfred and Matthew danced on.

* * *

**Dro: **Huh. That's certainly weird.

**Next Chapter:** Ivan is confronted by the "new and improved" Matthew.


	43. The Other Side of the Looking Glass

**Dro: **Huge revelation in this chapter, guys! Oh, and by the way, if anyone didn't get the memo: **In the Shadow of Wonderland**, Chapter 3, is up like it's supposed to be now. I noticed a severe lack of reviews for the chapter due the update error, but it's fixed now. Anyway, the usual request: Please read and **review**.

**Chapter Summary: **Feliciano steps up to challenge Alfred, while Ivan is left stunned and hurt at Matthew's condition.

**Warnings:** Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Still poor. No money for me. So I have yet to buy the rights to APH.

* * *

They didn't stop dancing until the music stopped playing. They spun with the high notes, slowed with the low notes, gracefully stepped around one another like they were extensions of the same being. It was a dance of pure and utter perfection. Neither brother seemed to notice their presence, but Feliciano knew it was a farce. Alfred had opened the door mentally, letting them see just what was going on aboard this airship. Unfortunately, even seeing it with his own eyes, Feliciano couldn't begin to understand just _what_ it was that was going on.

And then they stopped.

They parted from each other with a single fluttering movement and turned toward the two stunned men standing in the doorway. Their faces wore identical smiles, and a chill shot down Feliciano's spine. Matthew seemed to have fallen victim to the same insanity that Alfred had. What was it that _caused_ this? Was it England? How he could possibly induce this kind of mental corruption? This wasn't just some simple spell. It couldn't be. Somehow, he'd degraded them from their very cores, broken them down from the inside out.

"Matvey…" Ivan whispered.

Matthew's eyes shifted over to him. "Hello, Ivan." He replied happily. "We've been expecting you."

Well, of course they had, Feliciano rationalized. Their planes would've been visible to the airship from the beginning. But that didn't stop the cold from creeping up his back again. This surreal, twisted reality he'd been thrust into was confusing and terrifying. Seeing the brothers like this, smiling with _real_ mirth in such a _bad_ situation. It was _disturbing_.

"You…what has happened to you, Matvey?" Ivan stared at Matthew with wide, hurt eyes.

Matthew frowned. "What do you mean?" He took a step forward. "I'm perfectly fine, see?"

Ivan shook his head. "No, you are not." But he mimicked Matthew's step, entering the room. "_He_ has done something to you."

Matthew raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You mean Arthur? What's he done?" He chuckled. "I mean besides the obvious. What is it you think he's done to me?"

"He…you should not be happy like this. Not here. He has warped your mind, Matvey."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, Ivan. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Yeah. They keep acting like something's wrong with me too, Matt." Alfred snickered. "I don't get why they can't just accept their loss and move on." He waltzed back over to Matthew and hung himself over the younger man's shoulders. "Don't be sore losers. We won this fair and square."

Ivan growled. "You have won nothing. This battle is far from over."

Both boys paused before breaking into a fit of laughter. Ivan and Feliciano both jumped at the sound as it echoed out the door and down the hallway. Alfred wiped his eyes with the back of his glove. "Ah, that was rich. You really don't know what you're up against, do you? You think all of you can just come here and beat us like this? You have two novice magic users and a bunch of powerless fools on your side. You're not even a match for _me,_ much less Arthur. Arthur is going to kick your ass. If you make it to him, that is. Which I doubt. Because you're up against us first." With that, he broke apart from Matthew and teleported in front of him, challenging Ivan and Feliciano to attack him.

Feliciano let out the breath he'd been holding. He wasn't sure he could do this, but it was inevitable now. He couldn't _kill_ Alfred. Of that, he was sure. But he _could_ and _would_ fight the man. If the only way to save Alfred was to defeat him in battle, then so be it. That did, of course, imply there _was_ a way to save Alfred. For all Feliciano knew, even if they defeated England, Alfred and Matthew might be permanently stuck this way, with their brains twisted and ruined. He clenched his fists. _No._ He'd been too pessimistic. There _was_ a way to save Alfred and Matthew. And he would find it no matter what.

He stepped ahead of Ivan, accepting Alfred's challenge. Alfred smirked. "So that's how it's going to be, huh? I see." He sighed, almost as if he'd expected Feliciano to just give up and go home, defeated. He seemed to still have some shred of his former affection left, despite the fact that it had been paved over with false contentment and cracked smiles.

"Feliciano…" Ivan murmured, shock filling his voice.

"Don't worry. I've got this. You worry about Matthew. I sense a dull magic signature coming from him, but I'm not sure what it is. He might've been given some kind of power, so watch out."

Ivan nodded grimly in understanding, his eyes locking on Matthew's soft violets. The other boy stared back at him, still smiling, beckoning him forward. Ivan tensed, waiting for Alfred and Feliciano to move. The next moment they were gone, and then they were on the other side of the room, dodging punches and kicks with purple sparks flying into the air. Ivan was stunned at how fast the two of them were moving, so stunned he failed to notice Matthew had moved until he was right _there_. He gasped as Matthew grabbed the front of the coat, eyes narrowed maliciously.

The next thing Ivan knew, his stomach was churning violently and he was gasping for air. Matthew released his coat, and he swung out. Matthew fell backward, yelling at him to "Stop! Wait!" He froze. All of the former malice and insanity in Matthew's eyes had dissipated, and he looked up at Ivan with the same subtle, soft, wise gaze he always had.

"Matvey? What did you…?" He looked back up at the battling pair, who both looked around for their counterparts, only to find no one there. Then they were at it again, the window on the far side of the room threatening to shatter at the pressure of their magic.

"It's my new ability." Matthew mumbled. "We're on a different plane of existence right now, where there is no magic. Which is why I'm back to normal." He frowned deeply. "I keep having to trick myself out there."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not really okay, Ivan. Out there, back in the regular plane, I'm _not_ acting. I'm _really_ like that. My mind is completely fucked up. It's amazing I can keep convincing myself that coming here is alright. I _know_ once I get here I'll go back to normal, and a part of the…_other_ me doesn't want me to come here. But so far, I've managed to fool myself into thinking it's a good tactic, bringing people here. I don't know how long that will last though."

"I'm…very confused."

"I know. So am I. Everything is so confusing Ivan. You just don't understand."

"You're right. I don't. _What_ has happened to you, Matvey?" He gently grasped his lover's shoulders, kneading them.

Matthew sighed. "There's no easy way to describe this to you, and I haven't got a lot of time, so you're just going to have believe what I say and not ask questions, alright?"

Ivan nodded. "I trust you, Matvey."

Matthew smiled sadly. "That's fine as long as we're here. Just remember, once we're _out there_ again, don't listen to a thing I say. I'm manipulative and devious and malicious and _wrong_."

Ivan's heart ached to hear Matvey describe himself in such a way. "Is there no way to help you?"

He nodded glumly. "There is one. And that is to defeat Britannia."

"Britannia? You mean England?"

Matthew shook his head. "That's the first thing I need to tell you. The were two of them. Two Arthur Kirklands. One was ours. And he was _not_ the one who started this. The true instigator was an Arthur who calls himself Britannia from a world parallel to ours. He used England's magic against him to open a pathway from the world he was in—another world he had conquered—to our world."

"Two of them…" Ivan leaned against the wall. "All this time there have been…two of them?"

Matthew nodded sullenly. "Yes. There _were_ two of them."

Ivan swallowed thickly. "So, our England is…"

"I wish. I wish he was resting in peace right now. But he's suffered something much, much worse." Matthew looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Matvey, I don't understand…what could be worse than…?"

"The other Arthur, Britannia, decided he wanted to boost his magical abilities, so he forced England to exchange memories with him. They each had two sets of memories, the second set being the other's. For the longest time, none of us could figure out the purpose. He kept that one memory from Arthur: _why_ he had done the exchange in the first place." He bit his lip. "A few weeks ago, we found out."

"What…what was it…?"

"When I said 'boost his magical abilities,' what I mean is, he wanted Arthur's too. But not as in stealing them. No, that was…impossible. So he took it a step further. He waited until their minds aligned perfectly with all their memories…" He struggled to finish. "Then he fused them together."

Ivan's mouth hung open. "Fuse…as in…became one?"

"Yes…" He mumbled. "There's only _one_ Arthur now, and he calls himself _Grand_ Britannia. He's both of them. Both of them put together, driven forward by the original Britannia's goals, but with England's added magic. His personality is both affectionate and malicious, and it makes him all the more dangerous. Britannia was crazy to begin with, so adding England's stresses to himself has sent him over the edge. He has no regard for life. At all. He's completely insane. Beyond redemption."

Feliciano and Alfred suddenly went right _through_ them, and Ivan shuddered, watching as the pair ended up going through the room's wall and tumbling out into the hallway. Ivan tried to stay composed. "So there is no way to…separate them?"

"I don't know. I have no idea what kind of magic he used to combine them in the first place! For all I know, they _can_ be, but I don't know how, and I don't know how I can find out. With this situation…with all of you here, we don't have the time. He's just playing with you. All of you. You're just _toys_ to him. And the moment you become more irritating than amusing, he'll kill you before you can even register it."

"Matvey, there must be something…"

"No. Just you _being_ here has already assured your deaths. The moment you stepped on the ship, you'd lost."

Seeing Matthew so utterly hopeless was _crushing _him. "Matvey, surely there must be some way…"

Matthew chuckled dryly. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, Ivan. When I first arrived here, I was so confused as to why Alfred and Arthur were so easily warped by Britannia. But the night before he and Arthur became one person, he told me everything. The ships, Ivan."

"The ships?"

"Yes. The ships. They're not powered by some kind of futuristic technology, Ivan. They're powered by _him._ By _his magic_. Every molecule on this ship is tainted with his magic. You're _breathing _it in right now. The longer you're here, the more it starts to mess with your head, the more it starts to draw you to him, the more it starts to bend you to his will. All of your have put yourselves directly in the path of defeat."

Ivan felt the blood drain from his face. "So, all of us will end up..."

"Like me and Al?" He spat. "If you were to stay here long enough. But you won't. He doesn't want anymore _servants_. He wants you all dead because you get in his way, you prevent him from claiming yours lands as his own. He's going to _kill_ all of you. You won't become like me." He turned away from Ivan. "Consider yourself lucky."

Ivan felt his heart cracking. "Matvey, do not say such things. We _will_ find a way out of this."

"There is no getting out of this! He's already won!" Matthew made to bolt, but Ivan caught him by the sleeve, pulling his coat sideways. Ivan whirled him back around and pinned him there.

"Matvey, listen to me—" He froze midsentence, his gaze lingering on Matthew's now exposed neck, where a line of dark love bites were clustered in several areas. "Matvey…" He felt his breath leave him. Matthew had realized what Ivan was staring at, and he struggle to get out of the larger man's grasp to no avail. Ivan felt a rush of emotion. "Who?" He demanded.

Matthew froze. "Please, Ivan. Just stop!"

"Who has done this to you? I will kill him!" He could feel his eyes burning. _No one_ hurt Matvey like this and got away with it.

"You couldn't if you tried." Matthew whispered.

Ivan faltered. "It…you mean…_him_." The very idea that the maniac Matthew had been describing to him for the past ten minutes had also been the one to…to _violate_ him like this made Ivan sick to his stomach.

"I will rip his fucking head off." He growled.

"Ivan…don't…please." Matthew begged quietly.

Ivan's resolve crumbled. "But, you…"

"Please. I don't want to see you hurt. I know it's inevitable now. You're _all_ going to get hurt. But…please…don't walk right into death, Ivan. I can't watch him kill you. I can't! I thought…when Al told me he hurt you the other day, I thought…" He pressed his face into Ivan's chest. Ivan wrapped his arms around Matthew's smaller frame. "I _can't_ let you die like this, Ivan. I just can't stand by. But the moment I go back to the plane where I can actually _influence_ what happens, I won't even care about you anymore. And every time I come back here, it eats away at me more and more." Tears flooded down his face.

"It is not your fault, Matvey."

"I know that! But it…I can't _stand_ this. I just want to _die_, Ivan."

Ivan's heart stopped. "No! You will _not_ die! I will not let it happen."

Matthew stilled. "You would sentence me to _that_ life forever?"

Ivan froze. "No…I would _never_…I will save you from that. No matter what the cost."

"And if you die first?"

He embraced Matthew tighter. "Nothing. Nothing at all will stop me from saving you. I love you too much to fail at this, Matvey. I cannot and will not allow myself to fall before I have freed you from this madness. So please…" It came out a whimper. "Please keep yourself safe. For me."

Matthew grasped the front of his coat. "I will. For you." Matthew looked at him with teary eyes. Ivan leaned down and sealed their lips together. Matthew's hands cupped his cheeks. Chaste. Short. And sweet. They broke apart. "We have to go back now. I need to check on Al and Feliciano."

"And I need to spread the word."

Matthew nodded. "It's not really going to make much of a difference, you know?"

Ivan smiled, sorrowful. "But it will make some. And that is what it matters at this point."

* * *

**Dro: **Aw...so sad.

**Next Chapter: **Feliciano and Alfred duke it out. For one them, it ends in disaster. For the other, it ends in sacrifice.


	44. And I Took the One Less Traveled By

**Dro: **Lots of guesses for this chapter. Most of them were heading the right direction. Not really a difficult outcome to guess here. Anyway, the usual request: read and **review.**

**Chapter Summary: **Feliciano and Alfred fight a death match. For one of them, it ends in disaster. For the other, it ends in sacrifice.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer: **Well, I don't buy lottery tickets, so I guess I have even less than a 1 in 25 million chance to own Hetalia.

* * *

Feliciano gasped, willing himself out of the way of another punch. Alfred was _strong_. Really strong. Stronger than Feliciano had imagined. And not only was he strong, he had also lost all his inhibitions against harming others. He no longer had any remorse for any pain he inflicted. And the most terrifying thing of all was that he still insisted on acting like himself. He was still all smiles and chuckles and bright eyes, but with _something else_ lurking beneath them. Feliciano could no longer look him in the eye. It was too much.

He whipped out his gun and aimed it at Alfred, firing off three shots before Alfred had a chance to move. And yet, somehow, he _did_. One second he was directly in the line of fire. The next, he was _behind_ Feliciano. He could use teleportation so fast now that his speed was incomprehensible. Feliciano dropped to avoid Alfred's incoming arm and twisted around, trying to take Alfred's legs out of from under him. But Alfred jumped over his kick, willed himself to the other side of the room, and flung several large, heavy pieces of furniture at him. He barely dodged them, a wooden table leg clipping his shoulder. Then Alfred was on him again.

Feliciano knew he couldn't keep this up forever. He _had_ to snap Alfred out of this somehow. If it was possible. He didn't _want_ to believe that Alfred's mind was forever broken in this way, but if nothing he tried worked, then he could very well be forced to accept that…that he'd _lost_ Alfred. His chest constricted at the thought, and he lashed out with a fist, slamming it into Alfred's stomach. Alfred gasped and doubled over from the magic-infused blow, and Feliciano brought up his knee, cracking it against Alfred's chin. Alfred flew backward and fell over, landing on his back.

_Now._ Feliciano jumped on top of him and pumped magic through his hands and feet, effectively making them immobile and pinning Alfred to the floor. Alfred, ignoring his bloodied face, thrashed to get out of Feliciano's grasp, but the other man refused to let him go. This could very well be Feliciano's final chance to try and fix whatever had been done to Alfred. Alfred howled like a trapped animal, and the sound sent chills down Feliciano's spine. That's exactly what Alfred was acting like. A wild animal. Ruthless and cunning. Acting only for his own gain. Or in this case, England's.

"Alfred, listen to me!" He tried to get through to his lover.

"Let me go!" Alfred yelled back, glaring at him with half-crazy blue eyes. "I swear to God I'll kill you if you don't let me go."

"Go ahead and try. I'm not letting you up, Alfred. Not until I get through to you."

"Get through to me about _what_? Can't you just accept I have other interests besides you? I don't _want_ to be back on your side."

Feliciano clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath before meet Alfred's eyes again. "Yes. You do. _Alfred_ wants to be back on my side. By my side. But you aren't really Alfred, are you? You've locked up Alfred somewhere in the recesses of his own mind, haven't you? You've taken him over and warped his desires, his feelings, his morals. Don't lie to me. I can see quite easily for myself that you're not my Alfred. But I _know_ he's still in there somewhere." _I hope. I hope to God._

"Tch, and you call me crazy! You're just a fool! Accept your defeat already! This entire battle is pointless! You're going to lose whether you like it or not. And I'm going to watch you lose and not give a shit. This outcome was inevitable from the beginning." He snarled.

Feliciano's resolve suddenly solidified again. "I don't think so. I don't believe in fate. No outcome is predetermined, Alfred. And I don't care how long I have to sit with you. I _will_ find the real Alfred. I _will_ erase England's influence on you, no matter what I have to do. I _will _get you back." He lowered himself, pressed his forehead to Alfred's and looked straight into eyes. "Because I love you Alfred. And I'll do anything to save you, no matter the cost to myself."

Alfred's eyes widened, and he struggled harder. Feliciano winced. Alfred's magic was pulsing through the air, slamming into his body over and over again. If Alfred kept this up for too long, Feliciano was sure to lose his grip. He tried to keep his breathing steady through the immense amount of magic slamming into his chest. "Alfred, please!" He screamed as a massive pulse of magic nearly crushed his ribs.

"Let me go!" He screamed.

"No! Not until you listen to me! Not you until you come back to your senses!"

"There's nothing wrong me!"

"Yes, there is!"

Alfred's face was contorted now. He'd lost any semblance of his "normal" façade. He was quickly morphing into a raging beast, and Feliciano's fear kept rising by the second. He had to stop this. Fast. But he couldn't think of anything to do. How could he get into Alfred's head? He hadn't gotten this far into magic yet. The extent of his mental powers was telekinesis. But he _had_ to do something. He had to _try. _He couldn't let Alfred stay like this. So he did the first thing he could think of.

He kissed Alfred.

Alfred immediately stopped moving, going completely rigid. Feliciano didn't want to see the anger or rage or disgust in Alfred's eyes. He wanted to look past that, so he did. _Alfred. Please let me in. Please._ He could have sworn he heard a response. Suddenly, he felt buoyant, like he had detached from his body. He was suspended in a vacuum, floating weightlessly. All around him was darkness. Pitch black. _Alfred?_ He frantically looked around. Where was he? What had happened? What was this?

Something caught his eye. A pinprick of light flickered in the distance. He reached for it, willing himself closer and closer. It slowly became bigger. Within it, Feliciano could have sworn he saw something moving. He tried to get as close as possible. _Just a little more_. He stretched his arm as far as it could go. There was something inside. Something. Someone.

His finger brushed it.

And then he was there.

He stood in a world of utter white, his hand still outstretched. He slowly retracted it, eyes searching for the presence he'd seen inside the bubble of light. But it wasn't in front of him. Then…behind? He whipped around.

Alfred stood a mere foot away from him. He was smiling sadly. _Feli._ His lips didn't move, but Feliciano heard him nonetheless. He raised his again, brushing it against Alfred's cheek. Alfred placed his palm over Feliciano's hand, leaning into his touch. _What are you doing? _He asked.

_I came for you. Alfred, out there—_

_I know, Feli. I know. I'm trapped in here, and I can't get out. But I know exactly what I'm doing out there. I can see it, everything I do, everyone I hurt. I almost killed you…_

Feliciano shook his head. _That wasn't you. That was whatever England put in your place._

_It's not England, Feliciano._

_What?_ Feliciano gaped. _What do you mean it's _not_ England? I've seen—_

_Let me show you. _

And he did.

A thousand images flashed through Feliciano's mind, so fast it felt like they were burning right through them. Sounds. Emotions. Pain. It all zipped through his body like a million electric shocks. And the things he _saw_. Two Englands. One from another world. Their world's England succumbing to this influence, losing himself in the other's memories. Alfred starting to doubting himself. Losing himself too. Falling to the true enemy's influence. The two Englands becoming one entity, one ultimate, unbeatable enemy. Matthew crumbling under the pressure, ending up warped and lost by the new England's influence. There were things that made him gasp. Matthew willingly becoming their enemy's lover without resistance, completely lost to himself. There things that made him cringe. Alfred kneeling before the man he was now completely devoted to. There were things that made him cry. Seeing both brothers in that man's bed, trapped in their false devotion and affection for him.

And then it stopped, and he was back in the white void, Alfred calmly wiping the tears from Feliciano's tear-stained face. _Alfred…_ Oh God, the things Alfred had been through.

_It's okay. It's okay, Feliciano_.

_No…No, it's not. I have to help you. I have to._

Alfred frowned. _I'm not sure you can. His influence has me completely, Feli. I don't think that I can escape it even with your help._

_Don't say that. There must be a way! I can't…I can't lose you…_

_If it comes down to killing me to save yourself, do it, Feli. _

_What? You can't think…I can't do that, Alfred! I couldn't if I tried._

_Feli…you may have to—_

_No! I refuse. I will _save_ you, not kill you! I don't care what I have to do. I'll use all my power! All of it. _Without another word, he embraced Alfred tightly, pulling on all his magic.

_Feli! Don't! You'll hurt yourself!_ Alfred struggled in his grasp, but Feliciano refused to let him go. He let his magic surround them, searching for the root of the England's…no, _Britannia's_ influence. He thought that there had to be a core somewhere, infecting Alfred from the inside out. But what he found was something entirely different, and he realized just how bad it was. The influence was _everywhere_. There were traces of Britannia's magic all throughout Alfred's body, all throughout his mind, every bit and piece of it contributing to Alfred's breakdown. So this was Britannia's way. His magic truly was like an _infection_, cells multiplying and spreading throughout you, making you sicker and sicker and sicker.

He would cleanse it all away. He felt Alfred still struggling in his grasp. But he refused to release him. Instead, he called every last shred of his magic and let it flow into Alfred, spreading out from this place in his mind to his entire being, wiping out every trace of that bastard's magic that he could find and replacing it with his own, a barrier, a shield for Alfred's protection. He felt the drain on his magic, but he kept going, ignoring Alfred's pleas, and then his screams. He wouldn't stop. Not until Alfred was himself again. Not until Alfred was free.

And then he was.

Feliciano's eyes snapped open as sensation returned to him, and he found himself staring straight into Alfred's wide blue eyes. It was gone. The insanity. The only thing staring back at him was _Alfred_. Feliciano had never felt so relieved in his entire life. He'd done it. He'd saved Alfred. A tear fell onto Alfred's face, and it seemed to bring Alfred out of his shock.

"Feli…? You…What did you…How…" He couldn't make a coherent sentence. A look of intense regret and guilt washed over his face. "Oh God, I…all those things…I…Russia…Oh my God…" He started panicking, but Feliciano could only smile. And then he couldn't do anything.

He collapsed onto Alfred's chest, his body completely devoid of any energy. He couldn't bring himself to move. To _breathe_. His eyes started to slip shut as darkness ate away at his vision. Alfred had paused.

"Feli?"

Feliciano couldn't respond. He'd made good on his word. He'd used all his magic. And then some. He'd tapped into his bodily energy. Too much of it. His grip on his consciousness slipped away, and Alfred's desperate pleas fell on deaf years. The world around him faded away, and Feliciano felt that same sense of weightlessness overtake him as he descended into another deep black void. Only this time, there was no light.

* * *

"You should stop following me." Matvey said to him as they rushed down the hallway. Ivan refused to listen. The _other_ Matvey was back now, and he'd promised Matvey he wouldn't listen to a word this other him said. Which is why, when an ear-piercing scream had echoed down the hallway—a scream that sounded _exactly_ like America—he'd taken off right behind the twisted version of his lover.

Matvey huffed and ignored him, keeping up his pace and turning a corner. Ivan followed closely behind, his heart beating rapidly. He was still trying to comprehend the things that Matvey had told him in the other plane. Added to his fear over America and Italy's situation, Ivan found himself confused and dazed. His field of vision seemed oddly blurred, his breath coming in short and shallow puffs, and he wondered if he was having some sort of panic attack.

Matvey stopped abruptly as he came to another hole in the wall, obviously blown out by an intense magical force. His eyes widened considerably, and as Ivan caught up, he wished he hadn't seen why.

Alfred hunched over the unmoving body of Feliciano, cradling him in his arms as he cried hysterically. Feliciano's skin was deathly pale, and Ivan could no longer make himself breathe. Alfred was begging amidst his choked sobs, pleading for Feliciano to wake up, but the boy didn't stir. Ivan found himself shaking uncontrollably, a sense of dread and horror and sorrow all mixed into one assaulting his chest. His eyes ran over Feliciano's body. Besides a few small cuts and forming bruises, there were no injuries on Feliciano. At all.

What had happened? What had…? It was then that he realized.

Alfred wasn't acting like England's servant anymore.

Matvey approached him slowly and crouched next to him. "Al? What's wrong? You won."

Alfred lashed out with a vicious snarl, backhanding his brother. Matvey fell over backward and frantically crawled away, cupping his injured cheek.

"Al! What was that for?"

"Stay away from me! Stay away! You're fucked up! You're not brother!" Alfred was screaming at the top of his lungs. His eyes were wild and panicked and _destroyed_. He _was_ back to normal, Ivan realized. His gaze lingered on Feliciano, and he felt his heart ache. _Too late…_

Matvey, disbelief tearing at his face, stumbled up and tried to flee the room. Ivan's hand immediately shot out, grabbed him, and slammed him head-first into the wall, striking his temple. Matvey immediately crumpled, unconscious, and Ivan caught him before he fell. The day was young, but there had already been enough death and pain. He refused to let Matvey become any more of a victim than he was already was. He held Matvey close to his body and looked back at Alfred.

"America…" No, too formal. "Alfred…there is nothing you can do. You have to let him go."

"No!" He rocked back and forth, sobbing. "No. No. No. No. It's not fair."

"I know…but he…"

"He saved me…" Alfred whimpered.

Ivan released a sharp breath at the admission. Feliciano had somehow freed Alfred's mind? How? He swallowed. "Then do not let his sacrifice be in vain, Alfred. We have an enemy to defeat. Feliciano has given himself up to allow you to fight. You _must_ get up. You _must _keep going. For him if for nothing else."

Alfred inhaled loudly. "I want to kill him…"

"…What?" Ivan said breathlessly.

Alfred rose with Feliciano's body in his arms and looked Ivan straight in the eye. Ivan felt like he was facing the sun itself. The dark side of the sun. Alfred was normally light and life and heat. But this…this was fire and destruction and _wrath_. Ivan knew no magic, but even he could feel the bending atmosphere in the room, the increasing pressure of Alfred's energy as it started to crush everything around it.

"A-Alfred…"

Alfred's enraged blue eyes stared right at him. Right _through_ him. "I'm going to kill Britannia."

* * *

**Dro: **Oh...sadness. Let's play the "Who dies next?" game, shall we? (I'm just kidding. I'm so mean to you guys...)

**Next Chapter: **Ivan tries his best to best to break Matthew free from Britannia's control while reeling from Feliciano's untimely death and Alfred's impending rampage.


	45. Somewhere Over the Rainbow

**Dro: **-yawns- Sunday is always such a laid back day, yeah? But I still want you to **review**, okay?

**Chapter Summary: **Ivan tries to bring Matthew back from his insanity.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer:** Dro will never own APH. If I could, this would be canon.

* * *

Ivan stood alone in the room with two motionless men at his feet. Alfred had ordered him to stay here, and with the sheer amount of magic that the man was wielding, Ivan had been inclined to listen to him. That wasn't to say, however, that he _wanted_ to be here. The entire scene was depressing, and he could feel the stress wearing on his nerves already. On one side of him was Matvey, still unconscious. On the other was Feliciano, who had not moved since Ivan and Matvey had first seen him earlier. Ivan had checked him over as soon as Alfred had stormed out of the room, telling Ivan to watch over the other two.

He wasn't sure how much protection Feliciano really needed anymore. The boy had no pulse. His heart wasn't beating. He was pale. He didn't breath. He was _dead_. There was no other way to look at this situation. Feliciano had sacrificed himself to somehow bring Alfred out of his insanity. And it had worked. But, Ivan thought, perhaps some costs were just too great. He crouched down and crossed Italy's hands over his chest. He didn't know all the burial customs of Italians, but he at least wanted Feliciano to look at peace. Ivan could only hope he truly was now. After what he'd been through, he deserved all the peace in the world. More than that, really.

Matvey groaned. Ivan studied his form as he began to move, his soft violet eyes fluttering open. Even in this state, Matvey was undeniably beautiful. For a few moments, he blinked confusedly up at Ivan. Then clarity returned to him. He gasped, sitting up, and backed away from the Russian. His eyes grew wide and wild as he caught sight of Feliciano's lifeless form.

"I-Ivan…" For a brief moment, Ivan was sure he spotted a flicker of the real Matvey, but then it was gone. Matvey rose to his feet. "Where is Alfred?"

Ivan sighed. "Your brother has been cured of his affliction, unlike you, and he has gone to join the battle against Britannia." Ivan decided he would leave out the part about Alfred swearing to kill Britannia and marching off enraged.

Matvey's face contorted in disgust. "You think I have an affliction?"

"I know you do, Matvey. You are sick because Britannia has made you so. But do not worry. We will fix the damage he has dealt to you. That, I promise." And he would too. Ivan knew if it came down to it, he would make the same sacrifice that Feliciano had for Matvey. He _loved_ Matvey. And that was all there was to it. If it was his life to Matvey's sanity, he would choose Matvey a thousand times over.

Matvey rose to his feet, anger marring the face that Ivan admired so much. "You don't know anything!"

"Actually, I know everything. Because you told me it all yourself, remember?"

He backed away from Ivan. "I was stupid to do that." He seemed conflicted. Ivan realized that Matvey's insanity wasn't as deep as Alfred's had been. It was more like a thin film covering the real Matthew. He could plainly see Matvey's real feelings breaking through. Maybe if he pushed his lover enough, he could break whatever hold Britannia had on him.

"Are you sure it was stupid, Matvey? I'm sure a few weeks ago, you would have thought it was incredibly smart to tell your allies valuable information."

Violet eyes widened. "I…You're not my ally."

"Are you sure, Matvey? You've been with me for quite a long time now, and you've been a friend to all of us for centuries. Will you honestly claim we're not your allies?" He took a step closer. "Do you know what I think, Matvey? I think Britannia has used his magic to corrupt your mind. I think he's done something terrible to you. And I also think you know it. In fact, I _know_ you know it because you told me that yourself when you took me to the other plane. You know exactly what that man has done to you."

Matvey had begun to shake, and he'd backed himself up against the wall. His eyes darted back and forth, and he mumbled incoherently to himself. Ivan swallowed nervously. He was definitely breaking through the thin wall that separated Matvey from himself, but he was afraid that if he pushed to hard, he might actually damage Matvey's mind further. And he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did that. But he decided he would have to risk it. If he didn't, Matvey could end up hurt—or worse—by the end of this. Who knew what Matvey was willing to do for Britannia at this point?

He began to close in on his lover. Matvey recoiled, but he was trapped against the wall, and the best he could was snarl. It didn't deter Ivan whatsoever. He stopped when he was less than a foot away from the smaller man. Matvey was glaring at him, and Ivan was hurting inside just seeing a look of such hatred directed at him from someone he loved so much.

"Matvey, listen to me. That man has used his magic to mess with your mind. And you know it. Fight him, Matvey. You are strong enough."

Matvey shook his head, his hands coming up to grip his scalp roughly. "No…No…Stop…Stop it."

"No. I will not. Not until you have overcome this. Not until you come back to me." Ivan's hands shot out, pinning Matvey in place just as he made to bolt. Matvey screamed, and Ivan nearly let him go, but he forced himself to hold on, and he pulled Matvey into his arms, whispering soft Russian into his ears.

Matvey whimpered softly for several minutes, and Ivan rocked him back and forth. "I love you, my Matvey. You know this. So return to me. Come back to, Matvey. I know you are in there."

Matvey's breath hitched, and Ivan heard the ear-piercing scream before it ever left the boy's throat. He clutched Matvey tightly, trying to hold back rapidly forming tears. He was tormenting Matvey. He was hurting him. He was doing the one thing he'd promised himself to never do to his lover. He held Matvey to his chest, finally letting his tears free. They cascaded down to Matvey's face and hair, and the boy froze in his arms, his eyes unnaturally wide.

"M-Matvey…?"

Gradually, his gaze softened into mere confusion. "Ivan?" He whispered. It was like the wall had suddenly crumbled. Matvey was in his arms again, the real Matvey.

Matvey suddenly gasped and sat up. Ivan let him. "I…Oh my God…what have I been _doing_?"

"You were not well, Matvey. Britannia…"

"No. I know. Oh my God." His hand fell to his neck, where Ivan quite clearly remembered the brutal dark hickeys that dotted Matvey's fair skin. He ran a hand through mussed blond hair, breathing deeply. Ivan rubbed his back gently.

"It is alright, Matvey. You are better now, da?" He was certainly acting more like himself.

"I…I think so…Oh God…I can't believe I let myself…" He put his face in his hands but not before Ivan spotted the glistening tears that had begun to pour down his cheeks. Ivan held him close again, letting Matvey sob into shoulder.

"Matvey, it is okay. It is all okay. You have done nothing wrong of your own accord."

"I should've been stronger…" He mumbled into Ivan's coat.

Ivan shook his head. "With what you have told me, I understand that there was truly no way to avoid his influence. So calm down, Matvey. There is nothing to be forgiven. You have done _nothing_ wrong."

"I know, but I…I told you…?"

Ivan's concern suddenly shot up. "Da. You took me to the other plane and explained it all to me. You were not under his influence there. You do not remember?"

Matvey shook his head. "I…no…it's all jumbled up. You guys…you're all here attacking the airship right? I didn't imagine that?"

"No. We are all here."

"And Al…where is he? I remember…" He stiffened. "Italy…" He tore himself out of Ivan's grasp but froze again as he saw Feliciano's lifeless body laying on the other side of the room. "Oh…Oh God, no…" He sank back to his knees, and Ivan caught. "I…this can't…Alfred…"

"…has gone on rampage to kill Britannia. He is back to himself, but unfortunately, Feliciano's sacrifice triggered his anger…his true anger." Alfred was an expert when it came to hiding his true ferocity. It was something rarely ever displayed, even when he was angry. There were very few triggers that could break Alfred's hold on his rage. And unfortunately, Feliciano's death had been one of them. Ivan knew from experience that once Alfred got like this, he wouldn't stop until he had his retribution. It made him dangerous. Extremely dangerous. But it also made him reckless. Even more so than usual. He lost any sense of care for his own wellbeing. Ivan had watched him step into the line of a machine gun in this state before and keep on walking until he had shoved a pipe right through the gunner's chest, completely ignoring the massive amount of damage he had taken.

Matvey looked absolutely horrified. "We have to stop him. There's no way he can kill Britannia. It's impossible. With both Arthur and the original Britannia's magic combined…there's no way Alfred can stand against him. We have to find him. Now." He tried to stand, but he faltered. Ivan caught him and held him up.

"You need to rest, Matvey. This has taken a lot of you."

"I can't. I have to find Al. And we have to get off this ship. Did I tell you about Britannia powering the ships?"

"Da."

"Then you understand what kind of danger we're in. I may be back to normal now, but I can still feel his magic in my head. It will just take me over again if I'm here too much longer. We need to get off this ship."

"You mean we must defeat Britannia."

Matvey stiffened. "Ivan, that's impossible."

"If we do not fight, he will kill us."

"He'll kill if you do fight, too."

"Then we are losing nothing by choosing to fight then, da?"

A deep sadness pooled in Matvey's eyes, and he nodded slowly. "I guess not." His voice sounded hopeless, and Ivan cursed Britannia. That bastard had harmed his Matvey, in more ways than one. "We need to find Al though…Please Ivan, help me. I can stop him. I swear. I've done it before."

Ivan bit his lip, but he gave in. "Alright. We will search for him. But if he threatens you, please let him go. I do not want you to get hurt anymore, Matvey."

Matvey leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "I know." His eyes flicked back to Feliciano. "What do we…do about him?"

Ivan did not want to leave Feliciano's prone body, but he could not fight if he carried the boy with him, so he really did not have much of a choice. "We can leave him here. His body risks harm if we take him along with us."

Matvey nodded slowly and started to undo his coat. He slipped out of Ivan's embrace and shrugged the coat off, walking over to Feliciano. He covered the boy with the pristine white coat before standing back up, wrapping his arms around himself. He took a deep breath before turning back around.

Ivan let his gaze linger Feliciano's now covered body one last time before nodded and leading the way out of the room. This fight had barely begun, and they'd already lost someone of great value. And he had lost a great friend. Feliciano had healed him, and despite the boy's assurances that they were even, Ivan felt obligated to help him in return. And now he had failed. He clenched his eyes shut and opened them again, now peering down the hallway.

Matvey's hand slipped into his own, and Ivan looked down at him lovingly. Matvey looked back up at him with that sorrowful smile. "Let's go."

* * *

"Lovino! What's wrong?"

Lovino kept screaming, curled in on himself and writhing in agony. Gilbert was afraid to touch him. Lovino had started to looked pale several minutes ago, and then he had dropped to the floor, unconscious. Gilbert had been terrified. Then Lovino had woken up, screaming at the top of his lungs for no identifiable reason. Gilbert still hadn't gotten a reason out of him, and he was becoming more and more worried by the second. Had Lovi somehow been attacked? Mentally? Or by some kind of magic?

There were no visible wounds on Lovino's body, but that didn't mean there wasn't an invisible attacker somewhere. Gilbert had seen enough magic by this point to know it could do just about anything. "Lovino…please say something." His screams had degraded into whimpers now, and Gilbert was at a loss.

Spain stood not far behind him, and Francis, who had appeared out of nowhere after apparently getting lost, stood close by, looking pale. Their group had been split up ages ago, and they were glad to have accepted Francis on their team, but that didn't seem to be any sort of protection against whatever was attacking Lovino.

Suddenly, he went rigid, gasping, and his eyes opened wide to reveal dilated pupils and bloodshot whites. Gilbert was panicking. He had no clue what to do here. He had no idea what happening. Were they all going to end up like this? He grasped Lovino's shoulders gently, and the boy wrenched himself away, crawling toward the wall, his eyes frantically moving, taking in his surroundings. Gilbert realized Lovino looked coherent again, and he held out his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Lovi, it's me."

"Gil…Gilbert?" He was breathing rapidly, and he entire body was shaking with intense tremors.

"Yeah. What happened, kid?"

Lovino shook his head, a look of horror washing over his face. Tears started running down his face, and he choked back a sob.

"Lovino! What happened? Are you in pain?"

He shook his head. "No. No. Not anymore."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Feli…"

Feli? Some had happened to Feliciano? The realization hit him. Hard. Feliciano and Lovino were connected, even more intimately now that they shared the same magic. If something bad had happened to Feli, it only made sense that Lovino would have felt it too. Gilbert's mouth went dry, and he tried and failed several times to get any words out. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak.

"Lovino, what happened to Feli?" He said in the softest voice he could muster.

But his tone didn't seem to affect Lovino. The young Italian looked absolutely devastated, and Gilbert wasn't sure he wanted to know why. But he _needed_ to know. So he repeated his question.

"Lovino, please, what's wrong with Feliciano?"

Lovino's drained and broken green eyes peered up at him, a hint of bitterness and endless regret starting to pool in them. His lips moved, but no words came out for several seconds. When they finally did, Gilbert wished his ears had not heard them.

"Feliciano is dead."

* * *

**Dro: **Sadness, all round. What else could possibly go wrong?

**Next Chapter: **Ivan and Matthew run into Gilbert and gang. It all goes surprisingly well. Until Britannia shows up.


	46. A Twice Broken Clock

**Dro: **Ah, I'm getting so bad now. Almost every chapter ends in a cliffhanger. Whoops. Oh well. Anyway, do read and **review**! And thanks ahead of time!

**Chapter Summary: **Ivan and Matthew run into Gilbert and gang. It all goes well. Until Britannia shows up.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own APH. Makes me sadder every day...

* * *

Francis stood motionless in the hallway, his eyes downcast, his lips quivering, all the hope draining from his soul. He had lost Arthur first, then Alfred, then Mathieu. And now he had lost Feliciano. One by one his family and friends were slipping through his fingers. When would it end? _Not until we all are dead_, he thought bitterly. He couldn't imagine having to face off against Alfred and Arthur. Alfred, who had fought so hard and heroically up until now, only to be warped and broken by Arthur. And Arthur, who has somehow lost his mind. Francis couldn't help but think he should have seen it sooner. How could he not have known about Arthur's mental state?

He watched as Gilbert held the sobbing Lovino. Antonio stood next to them, looking lost and devastated. Of all those that they could've lost in the beginning, Feliciano hadn't been an option. The brothers had become so powerful, that, out of all the nations, he thought they would be two of the few standing at the end. And now, Feliciano was gone. How had it happened? Had he been in pain? Did he suffer? Francis wasn't sure he wanted to know either way. He didn't want to acknowledge that Feliciano was truly dead. How could he? He had known Feliciano since he was but a mere toddler, and now that little carefree, wonderful boy was…

"Francis." Gilbert's voice broke him out of his silent depression. "We have to get moving." Francis realized that Lovino was back on his feet, eyes ringed red and still leaking tears. But he still looked determined, if not bitter and broken. There was a fury in his green eyes that had not been there before, and Francis found himself afraid of it. He had seen first hand what anger did to magic. Antonio put his hand on Francis' shoulder and squeezed lightly, smiling sadly at his old friend. Francis couldn't bring himself to smile back.

Then they were on the move, quickly walking down the labyrinthine hallways that seemed to be a main feature of Arthur's airship. A sense of dread tingled its way up his spine, and he couldn't help but think that another tragedy was only moments away. How could he believe anything else to be the case? Had it not already been proven to him that this was going to end in disaster? They had known from the beginning that the odds of them winning were slim. There was little doubt in Francis' mind that he himself would perish by the end of this.

The sound of footsteps caught them off guard, and they all froze as two figures rounded the corner. Lovino nearly attacked before he realized who it was. Francis heart rate spiked at the sight of his Mathieu, dressed like _one of them_. But Ivan was with him now, and Mathieu's face lit up like a heavenly light as soon as he saw Francis.

"Papa!" Mathieu was suddenly in his arms, and Francis found himself clinging to his little boy, remembering when he was nothing but a tiny little bright-eyed child. He held back a sob of utter joy. He'd been sure that he'd lost Mathieu. So sure. When Arthur had taken him away, he'd been convinced he'd never see his boy again, just like he'd been the first time Arthur had done so. But there he was, in his arms. He wished Mathieu would never leave them, wished he would stay safe and warm in his arms until the end of all time. But, of course, that was not to be.

Mathieu pulled away from, smiling softly. "I'm so glad I found you."

"Ivan, what's going on?" Gilbert was eying Mathieu warily.

Ivan sighed. "Feliciano and I ran into both brothers. They were under Britannia's influence and—"

"You were with Feliciano?" Lovino barked.

Ivan's eyes widened, and he realized that Lovino knew. He obviously hadn't considered the connection between the brothers. "I…I am sorry. He went off on his own to fight Alfred, and by the time Matvey and I arrived, it was already too late. He had…I am not sure exactly what he did…but he sacrificed himself to free Alfred's mind from Britannia."

Lovino looked devastated. Francis was too stunned to be. "And Mathieu?"

Ivan met his gaze. "He is…fine for now."

"For now?" Francis was suspicious. He glanced at Matthew, who wouldn't look him in the eye. "Mathieu?" He asked nervously.

Mathieu took a deep breath and explained what he had to Ivan. Everything. Francis felt his heart shatter as Mathieu told him what had become of Arthur. _His_ Arthur. He'd never felt more guilt or anger in his entire life. Guilt because he had been entirely convinced that it _had_ been Arthur who had done this. Anger because he now knew the truth but was too late to do anything about it. So much had changed in the last few minutes, and yet, nothing had. Arthur was still lost to him.

"So, I'm liable to become loyal to Britannia at any time. I'm sorry…but there's nothing I can do to stop it. If I say anything or do anything suspicious, don't hesitate to take action." Mathieu frowned deeply. "I'm so sorry…"

"Matvey..." Ivan touched his shoulder gently. "Do not apologize to us for something beyond your control. We understand."

Gilbert nodded gravely. "We're going to get you out of this, kid. I promise. Have some hope."

Mathieu smiled but said nothing, and Francis could see the doubt in his eyes. He wanted to reach out and embrace the boy and tell him everything would be okay, but he couldn't bring himself to lie. He knew this wouldn't end well. Whether they somehow managed to defeat this bastardization of Arthur or not, this was bound to end in tragedy. It already had. They'd lost Italy. Who would be next? Just as Mathieu had resigned himself to their eventual defeat, Francis had resigned himself to the idea that the rest of his life—short or long as it could possibly be—would be filled with unending grief.

He had never felt so hopeless in his entire life.

"We should get going. We have to warn all the others about Eng—Britannia and update them on the situation." Gilbert was speaking quickly and calmly, but Francis could clearly see the pain in his expression. He knew Gilbert was placing Feliciano's death on his own shoulders. Francis sighed inwardly. This was going to be a disaster.

Ten minutes later, they were rushing down the hallway toward the drop off location of China and Japan. Their group was the closest to their current location, and Gilbert figured the two groups could then split up to warn the rest of the nations. With each step, Francis felt that cold dread creeping further up his spine, and though he tried to suppress it, the alarm bells wouldn't stop going off in his head. He was the getting the distinct feeling that something was _very wrong_ here. Like he was being watched. Which was likely. Even without any cameras, if this Britannia was as strong as Mathieu claimed, then he could very well—and likely was—watching them at this very moment.

They turned a corner and headed down the hallway. An alarm shrieked in Francis' mind at the last second, and he dropped to the ground before he even registered what he was doing. The knife embedded itself in the wall directly where his head would've been. The entire group skidded to a halt and whipped around to face the assailant. It was a very angry looking Siphone.

"Lord Britannia has had enough of you messing with things." She smirked dangerously, glaring daggers at them. "We don't appreciate your pathetic attempts at resistance. Quite frankly, Lord Britannia finds them irritating. So lets just get this over with, shall we?"

"Yes. Let's." Lovino stepped up to the plate.

Siphone narrowed her eyes. "You think you can beat me?"

"No. I know I can." At the last syllable, he was in front of her, fisting landing in her stomach. She flew backward, straight into the window that lined the adjoining hallway. She stopped just short of falling right through it, the glass cracking under the force of the hit. Stunned, she rose shakily to her feet. But Lovino was merciless. Before she had a chance to react, he kicked her brutally in the chest, sending her soaring through the broken glass and off the ship.

The entire group stood completely rigid, shocked at Lovino's viciousness. He was beyond angry. Beyond enraged. He'd lost his brother, and he was out for blood. Francis shivered. This whole situation had so completely altered every nation. They were changed, most of them for the worse. And now that seemed to include Lovino as well. How would he recover from Feliciano's death? Was that even a possibility at all? Francis wasn't so sure.

A few moments later, Siphone was back inside, teleporting herself back into the hallway. She coughed up flecks of blood and growled angrily at Lovino. Lovino's magic visibly pulsed around, an neon, intense, sparking violet. Francis was surprised to see that the incensed Siphone backed off, and before Lovino could stop her, she was gone. Lovino swore under his breath. Despite Lovino's mercilessness, Francis was impressed. He was insanely powerful now. He turned back to the crowd and said, irritated, "Let's get going."

And they would have too, had it not been for the slow, repetitive clap that sounded off behind them. All of Francis' fear assaulted his heart, wrecking his pulse and heart beat until they were completely erratic. He was afraid to turn around, terrified at what—who—he would see standing there, and when his body automatically turned without his permission, his worst nightmares became reality before his eyes.

Arthur stood at the end of the hallway, leaning against the window of the other adjoining hallway. He was dressed totally in black, the only accessories the gold buttons on his coat. His eyes were a fierce bright green, his hair slightly longer than Francis remembered. There was a scar above his eyebrow that had never been there, and Francis realized, his stomach churning in disgust, that it must have belonged to Britannia instead.

Mathieu, who stood next to him, sucked in a sharp breath. Britannia's eyes flicked over to him, a hint of amusement playing at his lips. His voice was thick and sultry, a strange combination of two accents, only one of which Francis could name. "Matthew," he began, "what ever are you doing hanging out with this lot?"

Mathieu paled considerably, and Francis could see a hint of ambivalence in those soft violet irises. Mathieu was being affected by Britannia's influence again. Francis wanted to scream at the man to stop, but what affect could that possibly have had? He had no control over the extent of this man's magic, his strength. He could wipe them all off the Earth with a flick of his finger. He was _playing_ with them now. They were toys.

The next time he blinked, Arthur was _there_, standing directly in front of Matthew, with an ungloved hand stroking Mathieu's cheek. "They haven't hurt you, have they?"

"I…No…" Mathieu was visibly struggling.

"Good." Before Mathieu could had a chance to move, Britannia pulled him into a passionate kiss. Ivan's breath hitched in the background. Francis stopped breathing altogether. For the first second, Mathieu tried desperately to pull away, but the next second he was kissing Arthur back, his eyes slipping shut. And then it was over. Britannia's face lingered next to Mathieu's ear, but he didn't bother trying to hide his words from them. "Because you know what I do to people who hurt you, Matthew."

"I…Yes. Of course." His voice wavered slightly.

"Now, what in the world are you doing with them anyway?" He pulled away, his face suddenly deceptively carefree and playful. "A game, is it? You do like to play games, Matthew."

"I…Yes, I was just playing them. You caught me." Mathieu's tone suddenly changed, and his whole demeanor seemed to shift.

A chill shot through Francis, so cold he could feel it biting at his heart. Mathieu had just…It had happened so fast, Francis could barely comprehend it. But it _had_ happened. They had just _lost_ Mathieu. Again. As he turned to face them, an eerily happy and thoughtful expression on his face, Francis knew he had just had his son torn from his grasp again. All of the worried sincerity that Mathieu had been exhibiting moments ago had morphed into something…_wrong_. Francis wasn't sure how he could place it as wrong, but it _was_. The happiness. The smile. The playfulness in those violet eyes. It was all _wrong_. So utterly normal and so utterly wrong at the same time.

Francis was sure he was about to throw up.

Ivan let out a quivering breath. "Matvey, no…" He seemed to have realized it too.

"Oh, come on, Ivan." Mathieu teased cruelly. "You're really gullible. Just own up to it."

No, none of them were gullible. Mathieu was just completely warped by the monster standing next to him. The monster with Arthur's face. The monster that _was_ half Arthur. Francis' lower lip trembled, and he could feel the burning tears that threatened to fall.

"Matvey, please…don't do this. You are still in there." Ivan was on the begging.

Mathieu pursed his lips before breaking out into a low chuckle. "Of course I'm here!" He rolled his eyes. "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Ivan looked pained. "Please, Matvey. Fight him off."

Mathieu rolled his eyes a second time, but something—something—flickered across his face. And whatever it was did not make Britannia happy.

It all happened in a single second.

One moment Ivan was there. And the next he was not.

He was just gone. Except he wasn't.

Francis had caught only a blur of movement as Ivan had been propelled through the window, half of him soaring through the hole Lovino had flung Siphone through, half of him shattering the glass next to it. He went over the edge with a silent scream.

The group stared at the broken window in disbelief. Francis heart struggled to keep beating. He whipped back around, horrified, sure that he would be next…

…Only to find an empty space where Mathieu and Britannia had been seconds before.

* * *

**Dro: **Oh dear...that was sudden.

**Next Chapter: **We finally return to Alfred. Then we head back to Francis, who ends up falling into a trap.


	47. Standing on the Brink

**Dro: **Hey, lazies, where were you the other day when I updated **In the Shadow of Wonderland**? Tsk! Tsk! If you're getting bored with it, please do tell me! I don't like to be left in the dark about why responses suddenly dropped by half. Anyway, onto this story. Nearing chapter 50...Well, it certainly won't be ending any time soon. So much left in this arc. Do keep reading and **reviewing**, please!

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred comes back into the picture. Francis falls into a trap.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Nope. Still not quite rich enough to buy APH.

* * *

"—van! Ivan! Wake up!" Someone was shaking him gently, and he blearily blinked awake, his vision blurred and distorted. There was a hint of red staining his sight, and he felt disoriented and confused. What had happened? His entire body felt heavy and useless, like a deadweight. Dull pain resonated throughout him, and he groaned as it throbbed with his beat of his heart. "Ivan? Can you hear me?"

Someone hovered over him, blond hair shining as it reflected the bright light coming through what must have been windows. _Matvey…?_ Ivan's shaking hand rose to caress his cheek. Matvey froze under his touch, but Ivan didn't hesitate. He wrapped his hand around the back of Matvey's head an pulled him into a deep kiss. He was rigid under Ivan's kiss, but Ivan refused to let him free for several seconds. The moment his hand slipped out of Matvey's golden hair, he wrenched himself away. Ivan blinked tiredly. Why was Matvey being so cold?

"M…Matvey? What's wrong?"

Matvey said nothing at first, but then he chuckled dryly. "Ah ha ha…Now, I get it. Uh, hate to break it to you, Ivan, but I'm Alfred."

Alfred?

Oh.

"I…I…uh…"

Alfred coughed, embarrassed. "Don't sweat it, Ivan. Uh…I won't tell anyone if you won't." Ivan nodded slowly and tried to sit up, only to fall back down flat on his back, groaning in pain. Alfred leaned over him again. "Hold still, okay? You're really hurt."

Hurt…right. How had that happened again? He was so confused. Where was he? "Alfred…"

"Yeah?"

"Where am I?"

Alfred sucked in a sharp breath. "Damn, it's worse than I thought. We're on the airship, remember?"

Airship. He gasped. Feliciano. Feliciano had sacrificed himself to save Alfred. And then Matvey…he'd snapped Matvey out of it, but…but Britannia had shown up and corrupted him again, and then…that was the last thing he remembered. What the hell had happened?

"Where…where did you find me?" He squinted up at Alfred's blurry face. Why was his vision so distorted?

"…Falling through the air. I teleported outside the ship to catch you. I think you got slung out of a window."

"…Oh…" He groaned again.

"Can you tell me what happened? Do you remember?" Alfred said softly.

Softly. The last time Ivan had seen Alfred, he'd been enraged and on the war path. Now he seemed calm and composed again. Ivan shook his head. "Britannia showed up…I…I had broken Matvey from his influence…but he took him back…took him from me."

Alfred sighed. "Damn it." He rose to his feet and looked around. "Of course he'd evade me." He growled under his breath. "That fucker won't face me. He's just going to keep playing cat and mouse." With every word, Alfred's voice became darker and darker. His rage seemed to be coming and going in waves, moving like the tide. Ivan would never admit it out loud, but Alfred's rage was truly terrifying. "But I'll find him. I'll find him, and I'll kill him." He clenched his fists, and Ivan felt the atmosphere shift at the pulse of Alfred's magic.

He groaned softly, and suddenly, Alfred's anger seemed to dissipate. He turned back around to the injured man on the floor. "But…but first I've got to heal you."

Ivan swallowed nervously. "You…you can heal?"

Alfred's blurry form shrugged. "I've only tried it a couple of times on some simple injuries, but I have to heal you, Ivan. You're…you're pretty messed up." Alfred's surprisingly gentle hand ran its way through Ivan's hair. "Don't worry. I can do this. I know I can." He sat next to Ivan's prone body. Ivan didn't remember what if felt like to be healed. He'd been unconscious when Feliciano had healed him the last time. Alfred placed his bare hands on Ivan's bloodied chest. Ivan dimly noticed that Alfred had, at some point, shed his pristine white gloves.

Alfred took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Ivan gasped as the magic flowed through his veins. He bit his lips, holding back whimpers as he felt glass working its way out of his skin. His eyes burned, but he couldn't close them. He felt himself begin to cry, and he let out a harsh yelp as something that was broken _snapped_ back into place. Alfred was whispering softly to him, telling him to relax, promising it would be over soon. And then it was. Alfred's magic receded from his body, and Ivan was left with a dull feeling of euphoria. He felt totally calm, totally at peace, and he couldn't help but wonder if something had gone wrong, and he had died.

But a few moments later, the euphoria faded, and he was left feeling stiff and sore. He blinked again, his vision finally clearing. He could see Alfred's face now, blue eyes looking worriedly down at him. He made to sit up, and Alfred helped him, apparently looking him over for any mistakes. Ivan waved him off, running a hand through his hair. His hand came black—unsurprisingly—bloody. He grunted.

"Sorry…I don't think it was supposed to be that painful."

Ivan dismissed him. "It doesn't matter. I'm healed." He tried to stand but stumbled. Alfred caught him.

"You need to rest some more." He guided Ivan away from the place he'd been laying, now littered with blood and glass, and sat him down against the wall.

"I have to keep going." He panted from the exertion. "The others are in much danger. _He_ just appeared out of nowhere. He is…so strong."

Alfred frowned. "Yeah. I know."

Ivan grabbed Alfred's wrist. "Please…please do not go fight him on your own. I know you have lost something more important to you than the world, but _please_, Alfred, don't be rash. We need you. If you go off on your own and get killed by him, you sentence the rest of us to death as well. We need to work together."

Alfred turned his head away, and Ivan could swear he caught the glisten of tears. Finally, Alfred said, "I know. I just…I was just blinded Ivan. Blinded by anger. I've never been that angry in my life, and I couldn't stop myself."

"I know, Alfred. I know. But you can now, and that is what matters. With you, we have a much better chance. You are one of the few, I believe, who can actually be a threat to him." Ivan closed his eyes, feeling exhausted.

"Yeah. I understand that. You don't need to worry, though. I definitely won't be leaving you anytime soon. I won't abandon my allies again…" He trailed off, and a tear slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry…for all this. If I had just stayed on the damn ground…I wouldn't have…hurt you…and Matt…Matt would still be okay."

Ivan shook his head slowly. "No. If you had not come here, you would lack the power you have now. And without it, we would have even less of a chance of winning. It has caused you insurmountable pain, Alfred, your failed plan…but it has also given us an advantage we would not have otherwise had. So do not blame yourself. I certainly do not. There is only one person I blame here."

Alfred nodded, sniffing. "Yeah. Me too." Ivan could see the ambivalence in his eyes. He didn't want to risk hurting their England, but he would _have _to hurt Britannia if they were to win, which automatically meant he would hurt England as well.

"Alfred, he would want us to win."

Alfred smiled bitterly, still refusing to look Ivan in the eye. "Yeah. I know."

* * *

Francis was on his hands and knees, still dry heaving. Antonio was behind him, rubbing his back with gentle hands. He wasn't sure when the panic attack had started, but one moment, he'd been staring at the broken window, too stunned to move, and the next he'd felt consumed by an overwhelming fear. Then he was on the ground, practically hyperventilating. And now he gagging so much he could hardly breathe, and he felt faint.

"Is he alright?" Gilbert's voice sounded off behind him.

Antonio answered, "I don't know. Just give him a minute, okay?"

Thankfully, a minute more was all he needed. He sat back, taking deep breaths and shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He repeated. Antonio looked at him sympathetically.

Gilbert looked hurt. "Don't be like that, Francis. None of us are blaming you for anything."

"I'm holding us back."

"From what?" Gilbert was skeptical. "It's not like we're going to make much progress." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not with as much as we've lost in a hour."

Lovino hovered in the background, eyes downcast, lips drawn somewhere in between a quivering pout and a furious scowl. He was pacing back and forth, obviously struggling internally. They all were at this point. It was one thing to know what kind of enemy you were up against. It was another to actually see the extent of said enemy's power. To so completely warp another person. To so quickly kill such a strong nation as Russia. Francis shivered. They were all going to die. If he hadn't been convinced before, he certainly was now. They were done for.

They all seemed to realize it. Gilbert seemed to be at a loss of where to go from here. Antonio, while seemingly concentrating on helping Francis, was obviously not all there, his eyes absorbed in something far away. Lovino was lost in his own world. By the time Francis was able to stand up again, everyone seemed to have drifted off into another dimension, out of tune with one another. Francis felt his sense of hopelessness intensify.

Finally, Gilbert made a suggestion. "We…we need to go find the others. We have to tell them what's happened." They nodded along silently. What else could they do at this point except spread the word? Five minutes later, they were off searching for the Nordics, who should've been the nearest group to them. They listened for any sounds of fighting or recognizable voices, but the hallways had shifted back into that state of eerie silence.

Francis hung around the back of the group, uncaring about their goals. He couldn't bring himself to care much about anything now. In his heart, he'd already been defeated. As they sped up, they ran past an adjoining hallway, and something—_something—_caught Francis' eyes. He ground to a halt, the others not even noticing he had stopped. The adjoining hallway appeared empty, but he could've sworn that…He changed direction, almost mesmerized by the emptiness. There _had_ been something there. He was sure of it.

He paused, searching the silent hallway for any sign of—

"Hello, Francis."

He was in an office.

An office with Britannia in it, sitting nonchalantly at his desk, an amused smile on his face. Francis blinked out of his trance. How had he…? Just a moment ago he'd been…Britannia laughed at his confusion.

"Simple teleportation, Francis."

Francis had a feeling it was a lot more complicated than Britannia let on. "I…what do you want?" He was afraid of the answer. In fact, he was just plan afraid. His body quaked uncontrollably at the sight of the man in that chair. The man that was partly the man he loved and partly a monster he despised.

"I just want to talk to you. You're quite a conundrum to me, you know?"

"I…and how is that?" He was surprised at the calmness in his own voice. He was sure he should be stuttering right now.

"Why don't you sit? Then we can have a talk."

"How about I don't?"

Britannia quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, but I insist."

Francis was flung backward into a large chair, pinned to the cushion. He couldn't move. Britannia chuckled under his breath. Then he was _there,_ straddling Francis in the chair, an iron grip on Francis' chin forcing him to look the man in the eyes. Those green eyes that were so familiar—and yet, so foreign—stared back at him, a hint of insecurity in them. A insecurity that was completely at odds with the rest of his demeanor.

Britannia kissed him. Hard and fast. Francis tried to protest, but he still couldn't move, and despite his best efforts, his body didn't even budge. So he was force to let Britannia ravage his mouth. The man worked his tongue in between Francis' lips, dominating his unresponsive tongue. Then he pulled back abruptly, snarling. His hand wrapped around Francis' neck and squeezed, and Francis' body gasped slightly as he felt his airway his constrict. After several seconds, he started to feel the lack air, and he mentally pleaded for the man to stop. But he didn't. Instead, he tightened his grip.

"I can't decide what to do with you, you know? Britannia _hated_ you. You were Gaul in his world. He despised your existence. You betrayed him and tortured him. You were the beginning of his mental decline. And he killed you for it. But England…England loved you. He would never admit it to himself though, much less anyone else. But he loved you dearly. You were a friend to him. And a lover. A lover he would've returned to the moment you asked sincerely for it. They were at such odds with one another, Britannia and England, about you. And so, I'm conflicted. I feel an undying hatred for you, but at the same time, an undying love. And I really can't decide whether or not I want to kill you or bring you to my side."

There were tears leaking from Francis' eyes now. His lungs burned, and he started to feel faint. If Britannia didn't let him go soon, he was going to suffocate. Britannia stared at him, and all he could do was mouth 'Arthur.' Britannia suddenly froze, a fierce sneer on his face. But then his hand gradually loosened his grip, just as Francis was on the edge of consciousness. He sucked in a deep breath, gasping for air, his eyes never leaving the green ones still hovering over him. Britannia leaned down and kissed him again, this time softly.

"So torn…" He whispered as he pulled away.

Francis, still suffering from his lack of air, his brain muddled and confused, said nothing in response. Britannia's weight vanished, and he slumped down in the chair, his body drained of its energy. The man reappeared over by the window, staring out at the clear blue sky, the air battle long over in Britannia's favor. He said nothing for several minutes, and Francis didn't bother speaking either. He wasn't sure he even could, nor that he wanted to. What could he say? Nothing he could come up with would change this situation, would change Britannia's mind.

"What would you do for me, Francis?" Britannia suddenly asked.

It wasn't a hard question. Francis had known the answer to that for centuries. But the situation had long changed since then, and thus, so had the response.

"I would follow Arthur to the ends of Earth and beyond. I would die for him a thousand times over. I would throw myself in the way of a thousand bullets or jump right into the hottest flames, if Arthur wanted to me to." He closed his eyes, expecting the wrath to descend upon him as soon as he finished. He was ready for it. "But you are not Arthur. And therefore, I would do nothing for you."

* * *

**Dro: **Hey, look! It's that FrUk I hinted at like...twenty-something chapters ago.

**Next Chapter: **Something unexpected happens to someone. And then Matt comes back! ...Or does he?


	48. In the Valley of the Shadow of Death

**Dro: **It's the chapter you've all been waiting for! So read and **review** please!

**Chapter Summary: **Something rather miraculous happens to a certain someone. Then Ivan and Alfred and run into Matthew. Or do they?

**Warnings: **Violence, Language, Implied Past Sex

**Disclaimer: **A bit by obvious by chapter _48_, but no, Dro doesn't own APH. Like I've said 47 other times so far.

* * *

_Wake up._

He awoke, eyelashes fluttering over confused eyes. There was something covering his face, and reached up and pulled it down, revealing a plain high ceiling hanging over him. Where was this? Where was he? He couldn't find the answer to either question. He searched the room for answers. It was a mess. Broken furniture. Destroyed walls. Cracked windows. Had a bomb gone off? Where was he that a bomb would have gone off? He couldn't think of a place.

He sat up, stretching. He felt light and airy, like he had, at some point in the last few minutes, become intangible. It was a strange feeling. Had he taken some kind of medicine to make himself feel this way? He couldn't recall. In fact, he couldn't recall anything. That was certainly strange. Humming, he rose to his feet and swiveled around in a circle, surveying the room and peering out into the hallway through the large hole in the wall. He walked spritely up to it and stepped through, ignoring the open door next to it. The hallway was empty too.

This was a very empty place, he thought. Such a large place should have been livelier. Maybe he would go exploring to see if he could find party? A place as big as this was certain to have a party somewhere, right? He made to take a step forward, only to stop as he realized someone was behind him. He turned, smiling brightly as he realized it was someone he recognized.

"England! Hi! How are you?"

England was frowning, and he sighed deeply. "I figured this would happen. I'm sorry to ruin your peace, but I need you."

"Ve?" He cocked his head to the side. "What do you need me to do? I'm sure I can help with whatever it is!"

England smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, you are the only one who can at this point."

"So…what am I helping with again?"

England approached him slowly, and Feliciano's happiness seemed to shatter like a mirror meeting stone. Even before England touched him, an overwhelming sense of dread filled his veins, pumping from his heart to every extremity of his body. And then England's fingers brushed against his temple.

And it all came back.

The airships. The destruction. The death of Ludwig. Magic. Alfred. The final assault. Two Englands becoming one. Freeing Alfred. He'd freed Alfred…and then…and then what…?

"I…what happened to me?"

England frowned. England. Was it England? Feliciano's immediate response was "yes." The only thing that stood in front of him was the man he'd known before, the real England. The one who would never harm his friends and allies. But what was England doing here? England was supposed to fused with Britannia, so how could they be apart? Unless…where was _he?_ Feliciano was obviously still on the airship, but…he was so confused. What had happened? Where was Alfred? Where was all the fighting?

England seemed to scrutinize his face, as if expecting him to have a sudden realization. After a few seconds, he shook his head. "Don't panic when I tell you this."

Feliciano immediately panicked internally. What was England going to tell him?

"You're dead."

Wait, what?

"…What do you mean I'm _dead_?" He _couldn't_ be dead. He was standing _right_ here, talking to England. An England that no longer existed. _Oh Dio…Oh God, I…_ He remembered it faintly now, the world fading around him as Alfred screamed and cried and begged for him not to die. He put his hand over his mouth, trying to stop himself from sobbing, trying to stop his body from shaking uncontrollably.

"But it's alright. Because I'm bringing you back."

"You…you what?"

England took several steps toward the window, facing away from him. "I know you're confused, Feliciano. So just let me explain. Firstly, you _are_ dead. Accept that. You died saving Alfred. However, thankfully for you, I can bring one person back to life. Just one. So I need to show you what I have to show you, and then I need to revive you, and you need to get to work."

"What work?" Feliciano's mouth felt dry, and he couldn't stop looking his body over, wondering if it was even a body at all or just some kind of projection of himself that his soul had.

"I have a way to defeat Britannia."

"How?" Feliciano's resolve rebounded full force. If England had a way to defeat Britannia, then Feliciano would use it, no matter the cost. No that he could really lose much more at this point. He was _dead_. Dead. Is this what happened when you died? You just walked around aimlessly in the place where you met your end?

England shook his head as if he knew what Feliciano was thinking. "This is not what truly happens in death. Not even I know that. This is a middle state—somewhere in between this world and the other—that I've pulled your soul into. It's a corruption of nature, and it's something that should never be done. But I had no choice. This was the only place I could talk to someone without Britannia knowing."

A sudden thought wormed its way into Feliciano's head. If England was here, then…what was he? "Um, so you…"

He shook his head again. "I'm not a ghost or a wandering soul. I'm just an echo. The real England _is_ part of Grand Britannia, body and soul. I'm just a temporary manifestation of the actual England. He left me behind so I could lead you to the way he'd discovered to beat Britannia. I—he—had a feeling for a long time that by the end of this, he wouldn't be around anymore. And he was right, too. So he worked in secret to create a way to win against Britannia, and then he erased it from his own mind and left me—his echo—to instruct whoever it was that ended up here. He knew at least some of you would be coming here sooner or later, and he knew that some of you would die here, if not all of you."

Feliciano's respect for England rose to incomparable heights. Arthur had known the entire time that something terrible was going to happen to him, but he had still left them a way to win. Feliciano took a deep breath, only to realize it was pointless to breathe. He was dead. After a few more seconds of staring out the window, England—England's _echo_—started walking down the hallway. Feliciano followed him silently. He weaved in and out of the labyrinthine hallways until he came to a closed door. He went right through it. Feliciano paused and looked down, wondering how it was that he could stand on the floor and yet walk through doors. He decided that was something that probably best remained a mystery.

He stopped short of the door and closed his eyes. Then he propelled himself at the door. He went right through it and stumbled to a stop on the other side. It was a bedroom. England stood next to a nightstand, tapping on the wood with his finger. It made no sound. Feliciano stepped closer. England was staring thoughtfully out the window.

"It's in here. It's a letter that not even I know the full contents of. He wanted the person who died to be the only one who read it. It has a spell on it that will shield the information in it from Britannia's mental probing. Be careful who you share the information with, Feliciano. I would suggest you tell no one about unless you absolutely have to. I don't know what England came up with to defeat Britannia, but as far as I know, it's the only solution. Use the knowledge well."

Feliciano nodded slowly. So what now? He knew where to go to find England's letter, but… "So, are you bringing me back to life now?"

He frowned. "Just a few more minutes, if you please."

Feliciano was confused by his behavior until he came to a startling conclusion. To bring him back to life would take some kind of magic, some kind of energy. But where would an _echo_ of England get it? The only option must have been…itself. The magic that had created the echo would bring him back to life…and the echo would cease to exist. And then he understood. This was the last shred of England that existed, the last hint of Arthur's true self. And it was about to disappear.

"I…"

He shook his head quickly. "Don't, Feliciano." He continued to stare out the window, his thoughtfulness now long-turned to longing. "Just win. Please win."

"I will." He replied. And he meant it. Whatever the cost, whatever the consequence, he would defeat Britannia. For England. For Alfred. For everyone.

"It's time. I can't stall anymore."

"If you don't want—"

"No. You have to live. I'm just an echo, not even the real thing. Don't worry about me. Just fight him and beat him. That's all I ask, and that's all I want." He turned to face Feliciano, his green eyes holding an unfathomable sadness within them. He reached out and touched Feliciano's shoulder, those sorrowful green eyes sliding closed. A bright light filled the room, and Feliciano clenched his eyes shut as it consumed him. He _felt_ again, really felt. It was like a slingshot, and he was thrust backward until he slammed back-first into a solid wall.

Then he woke up.

* * *

Alfred and Ivan walked briskly down the hallway, searching for any sign of any one. The ship had been abnormally quiet for the last several minutes. They had heard sounds of fighting about ten minutes prior, but they had abruptly stopped, and both men felt the same terrible conclusion eating at the edge of their minds. Alfred had tried to assure himself that everyone was fine, that the fighting had stopped because their side had won, but he knew how unlikely that was. If Lucaster or Siphone had come up against anyone other than Romano, then whoever they had fought was probably…

Ivan stopped walking, and Alfred almost walked past him. He paused and looked up at the taller man, whose eyes were locked onto the adjoining hallway, wide and horrified. Alfred let his own eyes travel down the hall, where they landed on the form of Matthew, who stood directly in the middle, frowning at them.

"Matt…"

Alfred almost made a mad dash for him, but Ivan grabbed him and held him back. "Alfred, look carefully. Something is very wrong with him."

Alfred stopped short, taking a better look at his brother. In appearance, Matthew looked exactly the same. But his expression was all wrong. Even when Matt had been firmly under Britannia's influence, he had not ever looked like _that_. His face was contorted into a feral grin, his eyes narrowed viciously. It was almost like…like one of…

"Hello, Alfred. Hello, Ivan."

Like one of Britannia's expressions.

Alfred could _feel_ it. He could _feel_ it rolling off his brother. Britannia's magic. _Oh God…Oh God, don't tell me that…_It couldn't be what it looked like. It just couldn't. And yet, as Matthew started to walked slowly toward them with a nonchalant, yet oddly elegant gait, Alfred knew he was right.

"Oh, I see you've got me all figured out, Alfred. How about the big Russian there?"

Ivan was paled and shaking, and he glanced confusedly at Alfred, questioning him silently. Alfred swallowed nervously before turning his gaze back toward his brother. His "brother." Except it wasn't. It was brother's body alright. But Matt wasn't the one using it.

"He's possessed. Britannia's possessing him."

Matt laughed. No, _Britannia_ laughed. It came out of Matt's throat like a warped banshee's shriek. Matt's voice was never supposed to make that sound. It sounded like poison to the ears, thick and high-pitched and _disgusting_. Alfred felt ill. He was sure he was going to throw up any second.

Ivan appeared to be stuck somewhere in between enraged and terrified. His body was shaking harder, and any hint of determination and courage had drained from his eyes, along with the blood from his face. He was deathly pale, paler than Alfred had ever seen the Russian before. Ivan looked like the walking dead, as if by that single revelation, his soul had been ripped from his body and all that was left was an empty husk.

"Matthew" kept shifting closer and closer, stopping only once a mere few feet separated them. He looked mischievously from Ivan to Alfred and back again. "So, you two want to play or what?"

Ivan's body shot sideways, slamming into a door so hard it broke off its hinges, and he landed roughly on the floor inside a dark room. He didn't get back up. Alfred barely had time to react. Britannia's magic hit him full force, and he went sailing through the air. He broke free from the hold at the last moment, but it was too late to stop himself from hitting the wall. It cracked under the force, and he collapsed, coughing violently. "Matthew" walked up and leaned down, grabbing his chin and pulling him into a sitting position, their faces inches apart. Alfred could almost _see_ Britannia behind Matt's eyes.

A drop of blood landed on Alfred's cheek. He broke his gaze away from Matt's corrupted eyes. Matt's nose was bleeding. "What…what have you done…?"

"Matt" smiled. "Nothing yet. But possession is a bit rough on a body, Alfred. And of course, the more magic you use, the worse it hurts. Of course, _I _don't feel anything, but Matthew…"

"You fucker." He growled. "Let him go."

"I will. If you return to me."

"No fucking way." Alfred was readying his own magic for a counter-attack.

"Then I guess I'm staying in Matthew's body."

Alfred was ready to strike him, but then he realized he'd only be hurting Matt, and he stopped himself from attacking. He couldn't hurt Matt. _Which is why Britannia did this._

_Exactly_. It was Britannia's voice this time, floating into his head.

_You bastard. You fucking bastard. _

He shrugged. _Whatever gets you back on my side, Alfred. Granted, if you stay here long enough, you'll return to me anyway. But I'm getting the feeling I'll be needing to end this rather quickly, so I would like your assistance. _

"I won't help you." It physically hurt him to say those words, and Britannia knew it.

"Matt" smile that distorted, sickening smile. "Then I guess you'll just have to watch little Mattie waste away, huh?"

"I can't do that…"

"Well, you have a choice, Alfred. You always have a choice. Help me, and get Matthew back. Or don't help me and watch him die."

"I…" What was he supposed to do? He could always lie to Britannia to get him to release Matt, but he knew Britannia wouldn't fall for that. He would just possess Matt again if Alfred tried to rebel. So he was stuck. He either betrayed his friends and…God, he couldn't _kill_ _them_. But he couldn't kill Matt either. "I…"

"Matt" kissed him. He pushed Alfred against the wall and dominated his mouth. Alfred was so shocked he went limp, letting Britannia ravage him, using his _brother's_ body. When "Matt" pulled away, his lips were swollen and red, his cheeks flushed. He leaned to the side and whispered into Alfred's ear. "Do you remember that night the three of us spent together? Do you remember what you said to me? To Matt? How you loved the both of us and would do anything for us? Were you lying, Alfred? Were you lying to Matt? Were you lying to your own little brother?"

He remembered perfectly.

"No. No, I wasn't."

* * *

**Dro: **Well, this chapter was just one big thrill ride, eh?

**Next Chapter: **Ivan wakes up and runs into a dead man. Francis wakes up to a nightmare.


	49. Two Minutes to Midnight I

**Dro: **One chapter away from 50, guys. Longest story I've ever written. And it's not over yet. I'm going to say you have another good...15-20 more chapters left. The final battle scene is incredibly long and complicated. Anyway, please do read and **review**, like you usually do!

**Chapter Summary: **Ivan awakens to a surprise. France awakens to a very different surprise.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Nope, haven't acquired the rights to APH since last chapter. Sadly.

* * *

Ivan rolled over, groaning loudly. Why did this keep happening to him? Where he would he be slung next? Into a vat of acid? A pit of spikes? He sat up, trying to ignore his throbbing body. His back was on fire, and he felt like his muscles had been ripped to shreds. He wanted to lay back down and sleep, just so he wouldn't have to feel the pain, but he knew he had to get back up. He'd already been unconscious for…how long? He didn't know. One second he'd been standing there, the next he'd been hitting a door. He rubbed his temples, trying to assuage the pain from a massive migraine. He attempted to stand, but his back was injured, and he was forced to lean against the wall.

When he finally made it out into the hallway, he realized he was alone. Britannia and Alfred were nowhere to be seen, and Ivan cursed himself. First, he'd let Matvey get taken back by that bastard, then he'd let him get possessed, and now Britannia had Alfred as well. Ivan swore he would get revenge on that bastard, no matter what it took. But he knew in the back of his mind that, at this rate, he would die long before any vengeance came upon Britannia. The nations were too weak. Far too weak. Britannia was still just toying with them. He had the power of a god in his hands, and he was manipulating them like mischievous puppeteer. He had no care at all for their pain and suffering. He was vindictive and sadistic and downright insane.

"Ivan?"

Ivan froze.

That he had just heard that voice was impossible. He had seen the body itself. He had stood over it, checked its vitals. So there was no way the person that body belonged to could be up and walking around. And yet, he was sure he had just heard that voice, and he found himself deathly afraid of turning around. Either there were also ghosts walking around on the ship, Ivan himself had died and did not know it, or…

He turned.

Feliciano stood in the hallway, a worried frown on his face. "Are you injured? Do you need help?"

"F…Feliciano…y…you…"

"Yeah. I'm alive now. I know." He walked up to Ivan with complete nonchalance and lightly touched the man's back. Ivan hissed in pain. "I thought so. Let me heal you." Feliciano's hand touched his chest. Ivan was filled with warmth. The sharp pain from his previous healing was non-existent, and the worst pain he felt was a dull tingle in his spine. He shuddered at the sudden heat inside of him, his eyes slipping shut as a sense of peace overcame him. Then it was over, and his eyes snapped back open to peer down at those bright brown eyes, once more alive and vibrant. How in God's name had…?

Feliciano seemed to read his mind. "I don't have time to explain. Just help me find my brother. I have something important to tell him. And before you ask, no, I can't tell you what it is. I've blocked my mind from Britannia, but you don't have the magic to do so, so I can't risk telling you anything. Just trust me."

Ivan nodded dumbly. He'd never been so confused in his life, but he allowed himself to be tugged along down the hallway by Feliciano. It _was_ Feliciano. He knew it was without question. But how had the boy come _back_? As far as Ivan knew, you couldn't just come back to life, so had Feliciano managed to…? What else was going to happen on this ship? Mind control. Possession. God-like power. Resurrection. Ivan was honestly expecting the world to explode at any second.

"Do you have any idea where my brother is?" Feliciano asked.

Ivan shook his head. "I don't even know what floor I'm on. Britannia showed up after Matvey and I met up your brother, Gilbert, France, and Spain. He tossed me out of a window. Alfred saved me."

Feliciano stopped cold. "Alfred? Matthew?" His eyes widened. "What's been happening since I…died?" He seemed to choke on the word.

Ivan tried to explain as quickly as he could everything he knew. Feliciano paled at the mention of Britannia's possession of Matthew. Then they were off again, Feliciano doing _something_ with his magic that apparently allowed him to locate Romano. They located a set of stairs and headed up three flights. The moment they pushed open the door, they knew they'd found the right place. Sound burst all around him. The sound of battle.

Lucaster was fighting Romano, and Siphone was terrorizing Gilbert, who was attempting to protect a wounded Spain. Feliciano sprung into action. Before Ivan could even register what was happening, Siphone was thrust into a wall, _through_ a wall, and she landed lifelessly on the other side. The fight seemed to dissipate in an instant. Romano stared at his brother in utter disbelief. Gilbert's face was contorted in shock. Spain didn't seem to notice anyone's presence, his face covered in blood. Feliciano turn on the pads of his feet to face Lucaster, who was angrily snarling at the revived Italy.

"I thought you were dead."

Feliciano's expression—hard, determined, and totally composed—did not change. "You were wrong."

Lucaster lunged for him, teleporting half of the way through. But Feliciano was faster. Much faster. And much stronger. He teleported in a millisecond, landing a harsh kick to Lucaster's stomach. The man flew backward to the end of the hallway, bouncing off the floor several times until he slid to a stop. He struggled to get back up, his face bloodied and his arm hanging limply at his side. He seemed to know he was out-matched, and he willed himself to Siphone, grabbed her, and vanished.

Silence descended on the hallway. Romano stared at Feliciano, numb. Gilbert seemed to be at a loss of what do. Spain was obviously suffering from his wounds. Feliciano turned to him first and crouched down next to him, touching his chest like he'd done to Ivan. Antonio gasped, and they all watched, amazed, as the nasty gash on his forehead closed itself, forming back into perfectly smooth skin. As soon as he pulled his hand away, Spain sighed, and Feliciano rose to his feet again, facing Romano.

He smiled. "_Fratello_."

Something seemed to break inside of Lovino, and the next moment he was embracing his brother, face pressed Feliciano's shoulder, sobbing loudly. Feliciano held him tightly, whispering comforting words in his brother's ear. Ivan still stood in the doorway, stunned. Feliciano was stronger than he'd been before his death. Much, much stronger. How had that come about? The mystery surrounding Feliciano's return just seemed to grow and grow, and Ivan felt like he was missing something major. He'd had the brief—terrifying—thought that perhaps Feliciano's body was being possessed by Britannia, but he knew that wasn't the case. Britannia's control of Matthew had been obvious. It had been Matthew's body but not his mind, and all his expressions and mannerisms were nonexistent. Feliciano was acting like himself, like he'd been since he'd finally recovered from the initial attack.

But if Britannia wasn't possessing him, then why was he alive? Was this another one of Britannia's games? Or was there another force at work here? Ivan wasn't sure he honestly wanted the answer. Resurrection couldn't possibly be a good thing. It was a deviation from nature, which meant there had to have been some magic involve. Some powerful magic. Ivan shivered at that idea. He was tired of magic, tired of this force that could act upon him without his consent. It wasn't like fighting a regular battle, where the strongest and the most cunning was the victor. This was like playing a game of chess with a gun pressed to the back of your head and a blindfold over your eyes. The moment you moved a piece in the wrong direction, the gun went off. And there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it. Nothing at all. You yourself were just another pawn in the game.

Ivan surveyed the tear-filled scene of joy with apprehension. Gilbert and Antonio had joined in on the embrace, and…wait, where was Francis? Ivan's eyes scanned the area, not finding the Frenchman anywhere in sight, so he voiced his question. "Where has France gone to?" This seemed to break Gilbert out of his trance. He frowned and shook his head.

"We don't know. He vanished a while ago. Just…gone. One second he was there, and the next, he wasn't. One of the them probably took him." Gilbert's remaining eye shifted to the floor. "In all likelihood, he's dead by now."

"No." Feliciano released his hold on Lovino. "He's alive. All of us are, as far as I can tell." His eyes seemed to be looking elsewhere, as if he had an omniscient view of the ship. "Britannia is playing us, baiting us into traps. But he's not playing seriously. He's doing this for enjoyment. And to fix what's gone wrong for him so far, that is, losing his hold on Alfred and Matthew. Ivan told me he had another run in with Britannia, him and Alfred, and Britannia took Alfred with him."

Gilbert turned back to Ivan. "You were with Alfred?" He seemed to realize for the first time that Ivan wasn't injured. "He saved you when you fell?"

Ivan nodded. "Da. He caught me as I was falling past the level he was on. Pure luck."

Gilbert sucked in a breath and released it in a harsh sigh. "Well, all right then. So what's the plan, Feli?"

Ivan was surprised that Gilbert passed the reins so easily. Prussia had never been a nation to give up control. Then again, Ivan mused, he was not Prussia anymore. And Feliciano, though still Italy, wasn't the same man he had always been. He gladly stepped up and took those reins into his hands.

"First, I have a few things I need to tell Lovino in private. Then I want us all to regroup. Splitting up into teams worked for getting here, but we only seem to have a few different enemies to fight. Alfred may or may not count. According to Ivan, Britannia has the ability to possess people, and he did it to Matthew. If my theory is correct, I believe Britannia intends to use Matthew as leverage to get Alfred to work for him even though he's broken form the man's influence. In which case, Alfred is still technically on our side. We'll have to work this out carefully. But first, we just need to get the entire group together. I don't want to risk anymore lives unnecessarily. Letting non-magic users fight Siphone and Lucaster with no one to back them up is a bad idea. Do we have any clue where the other groups my be?" He directed the question at Gilbert.

Gilbert shook his head. "We've been searching for both China and Japan and the Nordics, but we haven't found anyone yet. We think Lucaster and Siphone's attacks were made specifically to spread us out more."

Feliciano frowned deeply. "Figures. Well, then let's get back to searching. The most important thing right now is to keep everyone safe."

Antonio, Gilbert, and Lovino nodded enthusiastically and began following Feliciano down the hallway. Ivan hesitated. The last statement that Feliciano had spoken had sounded…wrong. As if he was saying it to please the others as opposed to actually meaning it. Ivan saw no underlying malice in Feliciano's demeanor, but there was _something_ else going on that he was ignorant to, and Ivan couldn't help but wonder if it had to do with that "something" that Italy couldn't tell him about. Just what did Feliciano know that he didn't?

* * *

Francis's head pounded. He groaned softly, closing his eyes as the light assaulted him. There was no mystery about why he was in pain. He remembered very well what he had said that had prompted Britannia to sling a heavy metal object as his head. Personally, he was surprised he wasn't dead. He was sure that had been the end right then and there. But no, he was alive and awake, as terrible as he felt. And where was he? He dared to open his eyes again, trying to ignore the sharp stinging in his eyes as the light flooded into them. He stared at a ceiling that looked too plain to be an indicator of a specific place, but in his periphery, he caught the edge of a bookshelf that lined the wall, and he immediately recognized the place.

Britannia's office.

He was laying one of the couches. Between him and the other couch, there was a coffee table. He remembered the arrangement from when he had been "escorted" here earlier. He absent-mindedly turned his head to peer at said table, only to see Mathieu asleep on the opposite sofa. Matthew was covered with a white coat, his face peaceful. He felt an immense wave of relief wash over him. His boy was okay. Of course, his mind was likely still corrupted, but at least he was physically fine. As far as Francis could tell.

His eyes started to survey the rest of the room. Everything looked perfectly organized until he got to Britannia's desk. Where Britannia was heavily making out with Alfred. Francis felt his stomach drop into an endless pit. Britannia was perched on his desk, his legs wrapped tightly around Alfred, holding him in place as he kissed the larger man fiercely. His hands were on Alfred's face, cupping and stroking the cheeks as his lips continue to ravage Alfred's mouth. Tongues would appear and vanish every few second. When Britannia finally pulled away, they were both breathless.

Britannia smiled at Alfred, twisting a lock of his blond hair. Francis couldn't see Alfred's expression for Arthur's hands, but he could certainly hear both sides of the conversation well enough. "Tell me again, Alfred." Britannia whispered against Alfred's frowning swollen lips. "Who do you serve?"

"You." Alfred replied. "You and only you." His voice was dull and low, as if he'd had all the life sucked out of his body and was a walking husk of a man.

What was happening? What exactly was it that Francis had woken up to? Alfred was supposed to be free from Britannia's control, so…so what was this? What was this oath of loyalty? Alfred wasn't acting like himself either. He was acting distraught. He seemed to be shaking, and Francis could see his lips quivering. His eyes immediately snapped back to Mathieu. It _had_ to be. Britannia was forcing Alfred to listen to him by threatening Mathieu. Francis was sure he felt even _worse_ now. It had been one thing to know both brothers had fallen under the influence of Britannia. It was another to know that one was and that the other was being forced to comply because of it.

"Good." Britannia kept twirling Alfred's hair. Then he abruptly let Alfred go and stared _straight_ at Francis. "Now that we've cleared that up, we can get back to business. I do believe you have some orders to carry out, Alfred."

Alfred winced. "Y-yes."

"What were they again?"

"…Kill them."

"Kill who?" Britannia was still staring at Francis. And smiling.

Alfred was shaking uncontrollably now. His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "The nations."

"How many of them?" Britannia _sang_.

"…"

"Alfred…" Britannia warned.

"…All of them."

"And will you do it?"

A tear slid down Alfred's cheek, and his eyes lingered on his unconscious brother.

"Yes."

* * *

**Dro: **Second story I've written where you've picked Matt over everyone else, Alfred. -shakes head- Oh well.

**Next Chapter: **Matthew wakes up, confused, and is forced to deal with more of Britannia's antics. Until something goes _horribly_ wrong.


	50. Two Minutes to Midnight II

**Dro: **Ha! Bet you weren't expecting a chapter today, were you? Well, thankfully, my Japanese exam was not too long, so I had time to write. Anyway, here's today's chapter. And don't kill me please. And oh, please **review**!

**Chapter Summary: **Matthew wakes up to a nightmare. One that just keeps getting worse.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **-insert generic statement about how I'll never own APH here-

* * *

Matthew blearily awoke to midday sun streaming through the window. He squinted in the bright light, trying to ignore the intense throbbing in his head. He felt like he had the worst hangover of his entire life. He tried to sit up, only to fall flat on his back from overwhelming dizziness. What in the world had happened to him? He found his memory was blurred and distorted. He remembered Feliciano's death. He remembered Ivan. He remembered running into Papa and Gilbert and Romano and Spain. And then what…?

Britannia had shown up.

Fear raced through his veins. His fatigued eyes searched the room, immediately identifying it as Britannia's office. How had he gotten here? _Willingly_. His mind answered. Well, as far as being influenced by the man's magic made him willing. He groaned. That was right. He'd fallen back under Britannia's influence. He cursed himself for being so weak. How could he have let that happen again so easily? He'd _just_ broken free.

But what had happened after that? He had a vague memory of being in Britannia's bedroom, but beyond that, his memory was blank. Just…blank. Had he been unconscious since then? For some reason, he didn't think that was the case. Britannia wouldn't have just taken him again to knock him out. He was unconscious for a very specific reason. But…he just couldn't, for the life of himself, figure out what that reason was.

Until Britannia appeared.

Matthew recoiled, pressing himself further into the cushions of the sofa as Britannia materialized above him and just stared down at him, a playful smirk on his lips. His hand rose from his side and stroked Matthew's cheek, brushing his hair out of his face. "So, how do you feel, Matthew?"

Matthew's throat was dry, and he found himself unable to answer. He felt incredibly sick all of a sudden, and he had the urge to purge everything in his stomach. "I…what…" His voice came out slurred and incoherent. What was wrong with him? Why in the world was he like this? Britannia's amused smile told him that the bastard knew exactly what had happened.

"Don't be afraid. The effects will wear off soon enough. I'm sorry to have had to resort to such a tactic, but Alfred was being so obstinate. You won't have to worry about a repeat of that, I don't think. Alfred seems to have gotten the message this time." Matthew had no idea what Britannia was talking about, and the man chuckled as he apparently read the thought from Matthew's mind. "Ah, my apologies. Of course you don't remember. I possessed you."

He…what?

"Like I said, I didn't want to have to resort that, but Alfred forced my hand. But you shouldn't worry. I wasn't using your body long enough to cause any permanent damage."

Using his body. Possession. Britannia had _taken control_ of his body. Directly. No more mental manipulation. Just complete control. He didn't remember anything because he hadn't even been using his own body. Britannia had been using it, using it to…to what? Force Alfred to obey him again?

"Bingo." Britannia leaned over and kissed his lips gently before placing an even softer kiss on his forehead. "Just stay calm, Matthew. I really don't want to hurt you anymore. I would put you back under my influence to keep you calm and trusting, but in order to break the possession, I was required to remove it from you. If you get too frightened, just let me know, and I'll put my influence back."

His influence. Matthew felt the bile rising in his throat. Britannia was acting like his mind-warping influence was some kind of _medication_. Matthew had never felt so disgusting in his entire life. He'd been twisted by this fucker's magic into a obedient little dog. Then he'd had his body literally _used_ by him. He felt…dirty. He didn't even want to think about how many times his fucked up self had slept with this bastard.

Britannia frowned. "Oh, Matthew. Don't think that way. My influence doesn't make your feelings any less real." Matthew was tempted to point out the irony in that statement, but he kept his mouth shut. He was in a bind he couldn't escape from now. No, that wasn't true. He _could_ escape, but—

"But you couldn't stay there forever. You wouldn't be able to stand it. You'd have to come back eventually, and I'd be waiting for you when you did." Britannia confirmed. "So there's really no point in considering that as an option. You'd be much better off just accepting that you and Alfred are with me now. And perhaps Francis too…depending on whether or not I end up deciding to kill him."

"Papa…?" Britannia had gotten a hold of Francis too?

He quirked an eyebrow. "Well, it wasn't exactly hard. He basically came right to me."

Matthew bared his teeth. His family. This fucker had destroyed his entire family. One of his parental figures was _gone_, and the other one was liable to be killed at any time. And his brother…his brother was probably being torn apart on the inside as he was forced to fight his loved ones. Matthew felt a rage welling up inside himself, a familiar rage. One he'd been experiencing more and more frequently since the moment he'd stepped foot on this airship. The rage that wanted that wanted to rip Britannia limb from limb. He tried to suppress it with all his might. That kind of uncontrollable emotion would render an even worse outcome than the impending one.

"Where's Al?" He needed to change the subject. Fast.

"Doing his duty." Arthur said curtly. "Hopefully well."

Matthew's heart ached. Alfred was out there somewhere attacking his _allies _and _friends_ because of him. Because he was too weak to escape Britannia. _Al, why didn't you just let him have me?_ For once in his life, he wished he really _was_ invisible and unnoticed. If no one cared about him, then this wouldn't be happening. Alfred would be back on the right side, fighting against Britannia like he was supposed to. But, no, he wasn't. Because of Matthew.

Britannia smiled and shook his head. "You boys and your self-sacrifice. Never in my life have I seen anything like it."

"I would sacrifice myself a million times over if it would help rid the world of you."

Britannia pouted. "Don't be like that." He rolled his eyes. "I swear, you and your brother are the most stubborn pair I've ever met. As soon as this is all over, you'll realize how futile all your efforts were. I'm considering just cutting my little game short and ending the rest of those imbeciles now just so you and Alfred will finally see the light. Maybe with all of them gone, you'll finally accept that you belong with me."

An alarm went off in Matthew's mind. "No, please…please don't." He grabbed Britannia wrist. He knew very well that Britannia could make good on that threat at any time. They were playthings to him, all the other nations. He could easily obliterate them from existence at a moment's notice. Not even "kill" or "massacre" described what Britannia would do to them if he was annoyed enough.

Britannia considered him carefully. "Very well. I'll let them have their way for a bit longer." He seemed to mull over something. "Although, there is an _anomaly_ I would like to investigate. I have a sinking suspicion that something has been hidden from me, and I want to find out exactly what is."

Matthew could honestly say he had no clue what Britannia was talking about, nor did he think he wanted to know. Then again, anything Arthur did not know was a plus for them. He knew so much already that this entire endeavor was just about hopeless, but if there was anything they could use against Britannia, anything they had that Britannia didn't, then it counted as a small victory all the same. Matthew's reverie was broken by a knock on the door. His eyes honed in on the thick oak structure. Britannia didn't bother rising to open it. It opened silently on its own.

Francis entered.

"Papa!" Matthew shot up, ignoring the dizziness at the edges of his brain.

"Mathieu!" Francis' eyes lit up at the sight of an awake Mathieu. He had partly been convinced his beloved boy was comatose as a result of Britannia's possession, which had been fully described to him by said bastard earlier. Then he'd been escorted off by an angry Lucaster and stuck in a room until "he was called for." He'd spent the next hour trying to pick the lock on the door before realizing it _had_ to be locked using magic. So he'd given up. Then he'd been let out a few minutes ago and escorted here by Siphone, who'd disappeared as soon as she knocked on the door.

He hurried over to the sofa and embraced Mathieu tightly. "Are you all right?" He whispered into Mathieu's ear. The boy looked tired and ill, but at least he was awake and coherent.

Mathieu nodded. "Well enough. My head still hurts."

Francis flicked a not-so-subtle accusing glare at Britannia, who rolled his eyes. "I am just glad you are…better."

Mathieu smiled softly. "I am fine, papa."

"_Wonderful _reunion." Britannia mocked. "Now, Francis, I called you here to keep an eye on him. _Don't let him leave the office._" The last words reverberated in Francis' mind, and he made the deadly mistake of looking at Britannia as he said them. A feeling of absolute compliance settled over his true desires.

"Arthur, don't!" Mathieu yelled, but it was already too late. The compulsion had been cemented in.

"I won't." Francis answered simply. Something inside him was screaming that this was wrong, wrong , wrong, but there was nothing he could do to reject the order.

"Arthur, let him out of it. I won't leave." Mathieu tried to bargain.

But Britannia wouldn't hear it. "You've proven to me more than once that I cannot yet trust you, Matthew. If I leave you and Francis here alone without a safeguard, you'll get up to all sorts of trouble. And don't you even try to deny that."

Mathieu bit his lip, as if he was physically restraining himself from saying something incriminating. Apparently, however, he still _thought_ it. Britannia frowned deeply. "I see. Well, if that's the way you want to play…" He walked up and grabbed Francis' chin, forcing the man to look him in the eyes again. Mathieu tried to intervene, but Britannia mentally forced back onto the sofa, pinning him there. He vainly struggled, screaming for the man to stop. But he didn't. "Francis." Francis was immediately lost in his voice, his deep green eyes seeming to swallow the rest of the world. "If Matthew vanishes from your sight for more than five seconds or visibly leaves this room, kill yourself." A choked sound worked its way out of Francis' mouth, but he had no choice but to let the compulsion sink in and take hold. "Oh, and by the way, _don't let him touch you_."

And then Britannia was gone.

* * *

Matthew curled himself up on the couch, facing away from his former guardian. He didn't want to look Francis in the eye. He couldn't. Not after what happened an hour ago. _Why didn't he just compel _me_? _He'd asked himself that a hundred times in the last hour, and he still hadn't come up with a satisfactory answer. But then, he'd noticed, Britannia hadn't seemed to be keen on physically compelling him and Alfred to do anything lately. Matthew couldn't help but wondering if that was _their_ Arthur shining through.

But he didn't want to get his hopes up. Not with the situation he was in now. He couldn't use his power to slip by Francis. He couldn't physically overpower Francis. If he actually _did_ get by the man, Francis would…He groaned into the couch cushion. Francis sighed from across the room. Matthew knew that his papa was being tortured on the inside now. Not only was his life at risk over something he couldn't control, but it was his life at his _own hands_. If he screwed up or Matthew screwed up, Francis would kill _himself_. Matthew knew he couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't. Not his papa. He'd already lost Arthur. Wasn't that enough family torn away from him already?

He vaguely heard the sounds of Francis perusing one of Britannia's many bookshelves. He curled in on himself more, trying to block out the world around him. He could feel Francis' gaze landing on him every second or two. _More than five seconds. More than five seconds_. It keep repeating in Matthew's mind over and over. It was a simple thing to overlook, five seconds. How could Britannia impose a compulsion so easy to mess up? It was like walking on eggshells, five seconds. At any moment that Francis become careless, he could end up…Matthew found himself wanting to cry. This was not the way things were supposed to be. He felt like he was on a rollercoaster. One second they were Britannia's devoted followers, the next they were free, and then the next they were prisoners all over again. His stomach was doing flips, and he was sure he was going to throw up any minute.

Something loud crashed behind him, accompanied by a panicked yell. He whirled around, realizing one of the bookshelves had fallen on top of Francis, who was now trapped beneath it and a hundred books. Matthew could barely even see him, his hand just sticking out from under the shelf, frantically pushing at the heavy wood.

Francis couldn't see him.

Five seconds.

He was across the room in two seconds. But the bookshelf was heavy. It took him another two to move it. And it took him another two to reveal Francis's face underneath the pile of books.

Six seconds.

Too many.

Francis stared up at Matthew, wild-eyed, struggling internally.

"No…" Matthew whispered. He made to grab Francis and drag him to the other plane. _No compulsion there. I'll leave him until this is all over._ But he was too fast. Francis slipped out of his grip before he could make the transition and ran to Britannia's desk, heaving open several of the drawers, searching for something.

Something to kill himself with.

"Papa! Stop!"

But he knew very well that Francis couldn't stop. The only option was for Matthew to stop him. He _had_ to get Francis to the other plane before…

Francis pulled out a long, sharp letter opener, immediately turning it on himself. There were tears pouring down his pale face, shadowed with stubble. Matthew moved as fast at he could, leaping over the desk to tackle him and tear the piece of deadly metal from his hands.

But he wasn't fast enough.

He was forced to watch, mid-jump, as Francis plunged the letter opener into his stomach, gasping loudly at the pain. Then Matthew crashed into him, sending him staggering back into the window. Matthew immediately tore himself away.

"Papa!" He froze, shaking as he got a good look at the man he called his father. Francis had released the letter opener. It was firmly impaled in his abdomen, blood rapidly leaking out around it. Francis started heaving, blood working its way up from his punctured stomach and dribbling down his chin. His blue eyes were wide with fear and pain. "No…No. No. No. No. Papa, hold on! Hold on, please! Please!"

Matthew mentally begged Britannia to return. _It was an accident! Please! I swear!_ But no one came. _Please don't do this do this to me! Heal him!_ No one came. "Please!" He screamed out loud.

No one came.

"M…Ma…thieu…" Francis whispered, coughing as he began to choke on his own blood.

"Papa!" Matthew grabbed his shoulders, clinging to him, tears pouring down his face. _Please come back! Please heal him! Please!_ Still, no one came.

"S…So…Sorry…L…Let you…down. Sorry." He whispered quickly, his eyes glazing his over, his head lolling. He stopped talking.

"Papa?"

Francis didn't respond.

"Papa…please…please…"

Matthew's shaking hand pressed against Francis' chest.

No heartbeat.

"Papa…"

He screamed.

* * *

**Dro: **-pulls out the master list of 'Terrible Ways Dro has Killed Characters'- -checks off 'death by suicide caused by falling bookshelf'- Oh, yeah. On a roll.

**Next Chapter: **Alfred confronts Feliciano and the others but finds himself unable to properly fight them. Britannia shows up. Then he leaves almost as quickly as he got there.


	51. Two Minutes to Midnight III

**Dro: **The final battle approaches! It's almost here! Just a couple more chapters and it begins! Anyway, do read and **review** please!

**Chapter Summary: **The nations begin to regroup, and Alfred struggles with himself over what to do. Meanwhile, Matthew is shocked by Britannia.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **I don't even have a job, so please explain how I could possibly own APH.

* * *

They came upon Yao and Kiku in the middle of combat. The two were backed up by Korea, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, but it was obvious they were struggling to fight both Siphone and Lucaster. Just one or the another wouldn't have been an impossible challenge, but the pair together were just too strong. Japan was visibly struggling to continue the fight, and Yao seemed to be wearing down quickly. They rounded the corner just as Siphone launched an attack on Korea, and it was stopped mid-strike by Romano, who kicked Siphone down the hallway. The Asian nations looked immediately relieved.

Ivan stood at the back of the crowd, watching Feliciano and his brother take over for Kiku and Yao. The other nations fell back, giving the two brothers room to fight. It wasn't really much of a fight truthfully. Feliciano seemed to have gained the power of the gods, and he threw Lucaster through a wall without even moving a finger. Romano took down Siphone again and again, and the pair eventually realized they were far outmatched. So they fled, leaving the hallway silent once again.

_Finally_, they were able to regroup.

"What has been happening, aru?" Yao asked, sucking a deep breath. He and Kiku were both injured, but they were still on their feet, and that was what counted at this point.

Gilbert quickly explained everything they knew, about Alfred, about Matthew, about Britannia. He conveniently left out Feliciano's death, Ivan noted. Which was probably for the best. Telling everyone that Feliciano had died was a very bad idea. It would raise a lot of uncomfortable and suspicious questions, and that was the last thing they needed among their comrades right now. Ivan wasn't going to lie. He wanted to know just what went on after Feliciano had died, but he was patient enough to wait until the immediate danger had passed. Granted, if Feliciano's mysterious plan to defeat Britannia worked, that might not have been too much longer.

As Gilbert rambled off everything he knew, Ivan took the time to scour the hallway. Something didn't feel quite right. He knew there was, of course, a high possibility that Siphone and Lucaster were still around, watching them from the shadows. There was also the possibility of Britannia himself watching them. He always seemed to come out of nowhere, blowing in like a tempest and destroying everything in his way before disappearing just as quickly. But it wasn't Britannia he saw, nor was it either of the other two. Instead, he locked on to the form of Alfred, who was leaning against the wall at the end of the adjoining hallway. Feliciano noticed him at the exact same time.

"Alfred!"

The man looked up when his lover called his name, and his eyes chilled Ivan to the bone. Britannia's madness was not there, nor was the tell-tale gleam of insanity that came with the man's influence, but Alfred's eyes were terrifying nonetheless. They were filled to the brim with utter regret and pain, and a thousand possibilities ran through Ivan's mind. Something had happened to Matvey. He just knew it.

The hallway was silent as they all stared at Alfred's sorrowful form. He pushed away from the wall and slowly walked toward them, refusing to meet any of their gazes. Ivan felt his stomach churn. He had no clue what was about to happen here, but he knew he wasn't going to like it. Alfred stopped before he ever neared them, only getting close enough to talk them comfortably. Feliciano took a step forward, his eyes holding back tears. Ivan suddenly realized that Alfred didn't appear shocked that Feliciano was alive. Someone must have told him, and Ivan knew exactly who that had to have been.

"Feliciano…" Alfred muttered. "I'm glad you're okay."

Feliciano seemed taken aback by Alfred's demeanor. "What's…what's wrong?"

Alfred shook his head. Everyone was staring at him, wondering exactly what was happening here. "I…I'm sorry…" A single tear burned its way down his cheek. Ivan felt fear clench his stomach, and he grabbed Feliciano and pulled him out of the way just in time to avoid Alfred's hit, which slammed into the floor instead, cracking the marble. Feliciano, so composed only moments before, seemed to be at a complete loss of what to do.

"Al…fred?"

Alfred straightened himself but refused to speak. Yao growled. "What the hell are you doing, America?" Everyone had gone into battle mode, purple magic crackling at the ends of Romano's fingers. Alfred stood still, his eyes roving over all of his friends. He seemed to be struggling with himself. Ivan definitively knew what was happening now. There was no doubt in his mind. Britannia was forcing Alfred to fight with him using Matvey's life as leverage. He _had_ to be. Alfred looked too conflicted to be controlled in any manner.

Ivan pulled Feliciano, who still seemed too stunned to move, behind him and tried to reason with Alfred. "America, think about what you are doing. I do not know what Britannia said he would do to Matvey, but you mustn't fight us like this." It hurt Ivan to say those words, to put Matvey's safety _behind_ anything else. But the truth of the matter was they would all die here if Alfred actually fought them seriously.

Feliciano stiffened in his grip. "What? Alfred…is that true? Is Britannia threatening to…?"

"I can't. I can't let him kill Mattie. I can't." Alfred mumbled, repeating it over and over again. More tears were cascading down his face now. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"No, Alfred…don't be." Feliciano teleported out of Ivan's grip and appeared in front of Alfred, grabbing the man's shoulders and squeezing them softly. "Alfred, it's going to be okay. Trust me. You can fight with us."

"No…No, I can't…Mattie."

"Alfred." Feliciano's voice hardened, and he stared the man in the eyes. "_Trust_ me. I promise you that if you trust me, Matthew will be fine at the end of all this."

Alfred swallowed nervously. "You know something I don't?"

"He knows a lot we don't." Ivan affirmed. The crowd seemed to relax as Alfred did. There was still uncertainly pooling in his eyes, but he _did_ trust Feliciano. And if Feliciano had a plan, Alfred would go right along with it.

A clap echoed off the walls of the hallway. Ivan, remembering that distinct clap from last time, immediately froze when his eyes caught sight of Britannia in the hallway. It was really Britannia this time. Ivan was thankful that the bastard was no longer using Matvey's body as a shield. However, his presence always meant bad news, and Ivan knew if they rubbed him the wrong way, they would all end up dead.

"Well. Well. I should have known you'd end up talking him out of his loyalty to me." His eyes landed on Alfred. "Come now, Alfred. What happened to your oath of loyalty? Are you honestly going to risk Matthew for this? For whatever _plan_ Italy has cooked up?" At the word 'Italy,' Britannia eyes landed on Feliciano, and they darkened considerably. Ivan realized that Feliciano had indeed been telling the truth when he'd said that he'd blocked his mind from Britannia.

Britannia was most definitely not happy about that, and Ivan was sure the man would snap any second and kill them all. He waltzed toward Alfred, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. That was bad. Very, very bad. Britannia's anger was one thing. Together with the pure malice that seemed to wash over him in waves, it was another. Ivan prepared himself for the worst. Who knew what was coming this time? He'd already been slung from a window. Maybe Britannia would blow his entire body up this time, leaving nothing but ashes. Or maybe he would bind them all and torture them. Ivan had come to expect the worst of this bastard.

But Britannia did none of those things.

He stopped just as he neared Feliciano and Alfred, who had both readied themselves for battle. He stopped, his eyes widening, as if he'd seen something that no one around him could see. And perhaps he had. He stopped, his entire body going rigid.

He stopped.

And a look of devastation overcame him.

And that was the first time since Ivan had seen this Britannia that he had seen any hint of humanity in the man.

And then he was gone.

"What just happened?" Someone asked. Ivan wasn't sure who it was. His mind was too consumed with the millions possibilities of the answer to it. And he could only come to one answer. One answer that could hurt Britannia emotionally.

Someone was dead. Someone that Britannia, despite his twisted mind and disturbed emotions, actually cared about.

And there was only one person that Ivan knew fit that description.

* * *

The door slammed open, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the man standing in the doorway. He held onto to his papa's lifeless body, sobbing into the man's shoulder. A pair of hands grabbed him and wrenched him away, and he screamed, flailing, trying to hit Britannia in the face. But he failed, and the man subdued him.

"Matthew. Hush. Hush. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't listening for you. I was…I'm sorry." He held Matthew tightly. Matthew wanted to break away from the man's embrace, but he didn't have the strength. His mind was in shambles, his body the same. His papa was gone. His papa was _gone_. He choked out another sob, and Britannia hushed him again.

"I…It…accident…didn't mean…he didn't do anything wrong!"

"I know…I…" Britannia seemed to be at a loss. His grip on Matthew loosened, and the boy backed away from him. Matthew was covered in blood, and he didn't care. He fell against the wall and sank to the floor, curling in on himself. Lost in his own shattered mind, he watched aimlessly as Britannia crouched down in front of Francis' body. In the back of his mind, Matthew just barely acknowledged that this was the first time he'd ever seen Britannia show serious emotions for anyone other than himself and Alfred. Britannia looked legitimately shocked, legitimately hurt. Matthew realized then that Britannia had thought his threat to be an empty one, his compulsion to be meaningless. He had never intended to actually harm Francis. He _cared_ about Francis.

Britannia reached out and cupped Francis' already cold cheek, swallowing. "Francis…I…" He glanced down at the letter opener, and his lip quivered. He reached out and pulled the piece of metal from Francis' abdomen, throwing it across the room so hard it embedded several inches into the wall. He leaned over and pressed his face into Francis' shoulder. After several seconds of silence, he started quietly sobbing.

Matthew had raised his head, and he could only stare. Where had this sudden rush of emotion come from? Had Britannia always felt like this about Francis? Had _England_ felt this way about Francis? Britannia had never shown any hint of true emotion except around him and Alfred, and that was only in incredibly intimate situations. This was…this was something _else_. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know what this was or what it meant. It was too unbelievable, seeing Britannia cry. It just…it was an _impossibility_.

"Leave." The hoarse order almost didn't reach Matthew's ears.

"...What?" Matthew's voice was just as hoarse, and it shook as he spoke.

"Leave. Now. Go. Find your brother. Find your lover. Join your friends. Do whatever the fuck you want. Just _leave_."

"But…papa…"

"Leave!"

Matthew scrambled up and ran, nearly falling over the chairs in front of Britannia's desk. He didn't stop until he'd bolted through the door and reached the end of the hallway. Then he collapsed against the wall and curled in on himself again, desperately trying to hold himself together. After a minute of choked dry sobs, he rose shakily back to his feet and started walking, using the wall as support. He didn't know where anyone was, and he didn't care at this point. He just wanted this to end. All of this. He was so tired, so broken. He couldn't take anymore. He just couldn't do it. He just wanted to give up and fall over and never get back up.

He was halfway down another hallway when he heard it.

Emanating from Britannia's office was a high-pitched laugh. Dry. Emotionless. Wrong. Broken.

Insane.

A jolt of electricity shot down Matthew's spine, and he felt one last burst of adrenaline that sent him rushing down the hallway. He ran until he was out of breath, until he lost among the endless corridors of the ship, until that laugh stopped echoing in his head. Then he just let himself collapse. He landed on the floor with a dull thump, too tired to move, too tired to care, too tired to live. But fate just wouldn't leave him alone. Fate just wouldn't stop prodding him closer and closer to the edge.

Someone closed in on him with subtle footsteps. "Matthew Williams. Canada. Can you hear me?" Composure. Coldness. And a single hint of actual care. Like he had with everyone except his own sister. "I'm going to turn you over, okay?" Matthew didn't protest. He let himself be turned on his back, and he stared listlessly up at the ceiling. A worried, stern face peered back down at him.

Vash.

* * *

**Dro: **Switzerland. I love randomly sticking him in stories.

**Next Chapter: **It's Nordic time (and Netherlands)! And Turkey and Greece have a cameo!


	52. Two Minutes to Midnight IV

**Dro: **Sorry this is so late. I had my last exam this morning, and I wrote two essays between the hours of 9:00 and Noon (Noon being the hour I typically wake up during break). I was pretty wiped, and I didn't start writing until like..3:00. And then I gave up. Luckily, I'm on Chapter 54 of this fic, so I can always finish it later. And on top of that, FF won't let me upload documents today, so I ended up doing copypasta with a document I already had uploaded. FF, you just don't like me, do you? Anyway, please do read and **review**!

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred gets some shocks. Then, Nordics!

**Warnings: **Language, Violence

**Disclaimer: **Dro is too tired to think of a good disclaimer. Just search my previous chapters for a witty one.

* * *

Alfred stood motionlessly in the middle of the hallway, trying his best to comprehend what had just happened. Britannia had looked _hurt_, as if someone had…died. But whose death could hurt Britannia? He found himself shaking, and his eyes met Ivan's. They had come to the same conclusion, he knew. There were no other alternatives, were there? Mattie was the only person that—

"It wasn't Matthew." Feliciano said solemnly.

All eyes landed on him, and he shook his head. "Matthew is fine." He swallowed, his eyes downcast. "It was Francis. Francis is dead."

Alfred was met with wave a relief followed by another wave of grief. It hadn't been his brother, but it _had_ been someone he cared about, someone he'd known and loved as family for as long as he could remember. Francis. How had it happened, he wondered. How had Francis died? Siphone? Lucaster? Britannia himself was obviously out of the question, considering he had been with _them_ when it happened. Then again, Alfred rationalized, Britannia could quite possibly be responsible for anything that happened.

"Francis." Antonio muttered.

No one else could muster any words. What could you say when a man you'd known for centuries was suddenly _gone_? And yet, they all knew, they had no time to mourn. They had to keep going, for Francis' sake, for everyone else's. After several minutes of holding back tears, Alfred straightened his back and turned toward Feliciano.

"You have a plan, right? To defeat Britannia?"

Feliciano nodded. "I do."

"And it'll save my brother?"

"If we succeed, it will save _everyone_." There was a fire in his eyes that Alfred had never seen before, a fierce determination that seemed to override all of Feliciano's other emotions. It spread through him like an inferno, overtaking his mannerisms, his demeanor. What in the world was this plan? Alfred desperately wanted to know. But Feliciano beat him to the question. "I can't say anything about it. I don't have the ability to block all your minds from Britannia, and if he finds out, it's all over."

Alfred bit back a retort, trying to hold himself together. He was risking Mattie's life by doing this. But…but it was _Feliciano_. And Feliciano wouldn't lie to him about this. He just wouldn't. So Alfred forced himself to push back his fears and swallow his pride_. I'm sorry, Mattie. I'm sorry if you're hurt because of this. I'm so sorry_. It was all or nothing now, Alfred knew. All or nothing. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts. "All right. Let's go."

They had all made to follow Feliciano when someone darted from around the corner. Guns went up and magic flared, but the person stopped in their tracks, raising a hand of surrender. Alfred felt his heart drop right out of his chest. It was Vash. And slung over his back was an unconscious _bloody_ Matt.

"Matt!" Alfred willed himself to his brother, and Vash lowered him to the ground.

"He's fine, Alfred." The Swiss man said definitively. "The blood isn't his. I checked already."

"Why is he unconscious then?" Alfred barked. He knew it was wrong to snap at Vash for this, but he was already so strained, so tense, so close to just breaking completely that he couldn't help it. Vash eyed him for a few moments before answering.

"I'm not sure. I found him in another hallway about ten minutes ago, laying on the ground. I think he'd been running."

Alfred cradled Mattie in his arms, rocking him gently. "Wake up, Mattie. Please, wake up."

Matthew's eyelids fluttered open.

"Matt?" Alfred leaned closer to him. "Matt, can you hear me?"

His violet eyes languidly scanned the area, settling first on the towering man behind Alfred's shoulder—Ivan—and then returning to Alfred's face. He curled in closer to Alfred, burying his face in Alfred's chest.

"Mattie? What happened? Are you okay?" Alfred was starting to become frantic. Something was seriously wrong with his brother.

Matthew whimpered. "Papa…"

Then it clicked. The blood. "Oh, Mattie…Oh, God, Mattie…" Alfred held him tighter. "I'm so sorry." He caressed his brother's mussed hair, trying to soothe him the best he could. But there was no consolation for this, and Alfred knew it. Mattie would be hurting for a long, long time, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Feliciano sucked in a deep breath. "We need to get going."

Alfred looked at him incredulously. "Feli…we can't just go. Not with Matt like this…"

Feliciano shook his head. "If we stall, a lot more people will end up like this. And a lot more will end up like Francis." His gaze landed on Matthew. "I'm sorry, Matthew. But I promise that, by the end of this, everything will be okay." He turned and started walking. He didn't stop until he reached the end of the hallway. Without turning around, he said, "Now, come on, we need to go."

Alfred sat still, shocked by Feliciano's coldness. Where had the warm and caring Feliciano he knew gone? Had this happened because of his…death? Had it even been a death? Alfred wasn't sure of anything anymore. All he knew was that Feliciano had appeared to die, and then later Britannia had told him Feliciano was up and walking again. His mind was a mess of jumbled thoughts and tangled emotions. Despite the fact that his brother was alive and he was relieved, he was still confused and stressed and terrified and tired. He was so, so _tired._ More than once he'd thought about just giving up. And more than once, he'd wondered just what had happened to himself. Where was the self-proclaimed hero? Where was the determined fighter? Where had that America gone?

"Are you coming?" Feliciano asked, his voice still cold.

Alfred rose to his feet, pulling Mattie up with him and holding him tightly. He didn't know what was going on, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. But what he did know was that they needed to defeat Britannia, and they needed to do it fast. He glanced down at Mattie's sniffling, prone form. They needed to stop _this_. Stop the death. Stop the sorrow. Stop the suffering. Because that was all Britannia left in his wake. And if they failed to stop him, his presence would engulf the world.

He pulled Mattie's arm over his shoulder and started walking, his brother stumbling along beside him. "Yeah. I'm coming."

The rest of the nations followed suit, each lost, each confused, but each knowing that it was either this or death. They fought. Or they died. They could very well both fight _and_ die, but it they did nothing, death was an assurance, and none of them—not a single one—was willing to go down like that. So they would continue to fight. Until they ended this or Britannia did.

* * *

The staff hit the wall, sending plaster and paint flinging through the air. He kept his momentum, propelling the staff around toward the place where the man had reappeared. Lucaster barely dodged, the solid pole grazing the side of his face. He stumbled backward and ducked just in time to avoid the axe. He teleported himself down the hallway, but the two nations were fast. And they had backup. Bullets hit glass, shattering the window behind him. The wind blew the shards back into face, and he cringed, charging his magic so he could teleport to a different level of the ship. But the two caught up to him first, flanked by the others.

Berwald launched another attack, his eyes locked onto Lucaster's bleeding form. Staff met scythe, and Berwald flung the instrument of death right out of the man's hands. Lucaster willed himself backward again, cursing himself. He'd underestimated his opponents, and his enemies knew it. He sucked in air, pulling at the last remnants of his magic. He disappeared as he sighed, leaving the angered Nordics and a solemn Netherlands behind.

Mathias groaned loudly. "Why do these bastards keep disappearing on us?"

"Because we're winning." Lukas answered simply.

Emil agreed. "If they were able to beat us, they would have done it already. We're stronger than they are, at least in groups."

"We still don't know about England, though." Abel reminded them. "He seems to be a lot stronger than his two henchmen."

Berwald nodded silently. This was the second fight they'd escaped from unscathed, and something had to give soon. Either they were going to defeat the enemy, or the enemy was going to defeat them. Berwald was adamantly aiming for the former. The man who'd killed Tino was already gone, but as far as he was concerned, all of _them_ were at fault, including England. Especially England. This battle would never end until that bastard was taken down. And if it hadn't been for him, it never would have started.

"We should keep going." Abel added. "If we're able to find the control room of the ship, we just might be able to dish it some damage."

Mathias begrudgingly agreed. Berwald had no comment on the matter. He didn't care where they ended up as long as this escapade ended with England's death. They all took off again, walking briskly down the seemingly endless maze of hallways. They had just emerged into another border hallway lined with tall, seamless windows, when they saw the fight outside. _Out_side. Sadik stood on a small metal walkway that lined the outside of the ship, Heracles not far behind him. Siphone was edging closer and closer to the pair, her magic visibly flaring.

Berwald and Mathias exchanged glances. They didn't hesitate. They both ignored the shouts of their friends and dived toward the window, plunging right through the glass and across the small gap to the platform. They landed on the other side of the Siphone, surrounding her. That didn't matter much to someone who could teleport, but it was all the edge they needed to distract her from the two people she'd cornered. Berwald went into action first, lunging straight at Siphone. She flipped herself over the edge of the railing of the walkway and teleported, reappearing behind Mathias. He swung out with the axe, and she barely dodged it, the blade catching her stray strands of hair and slicing them apart. Growling, she kicked out, nailing Mathias in the stomach. He flew backward and landed in a heap, barely managing to keep a grip on his weapon as both he and it threatened to slide underneath the railing and over the edge.

Berwald leapt over his fallen comrade, striking Siphone in the shoulder with his staff. She shrieked and teleported backward, slipping out her knife from its sheath. Baring her teeth, she willed herself in front of him. Berwald heard the shout just in time. He dropped to his knees. The bullet zipped just over his head, tearing into Siphone's chest. She stumbled mid-attack and fell over, gasping in pain. Berwald craned his neck to see that Sadik had shot the gun. His mask was broken in half, a line of blood running down his face from a cut underneath his eye. He looked bitter but determined, triumphant but solemn.

Siphone roared in pain and rage. She raised a fist that pulsed with intensely bright light and slammed it into the walkway. Magic shot through the metal, and the structure collapsed. Berwald barely had time to grab onto the railing, Mathias hooking his axe on a bar to save himself from plummeting to his death at the last second. Heracles fell, his face contorted in a silent scream. But his descent was halted at the last second as Sadik grabbed him, holding them both onto the dangerously tilting platform. Heracles clung to long-time enemy, old rivalries completely meaningless in a time of war against a common foe.

Berwald looked back toward Siphone. She was gone, leaving them hanging precariously over the Earth that mocked them from thousands of feet below. Emil, Abel, and Lukas were leaning out of the window, loudly asking if they were okay. No, they were most certainly not okay. Mathias screamed as much back at them, only in a far more obscene manner.

"Hold on!" Abel shouted. "We'll find something to get you back up."

"Hurry, will you?" Sadik yelped. His grip was visibly starting to slip.

And then they were back in the hallway.

Berwald blinked, confused, and turned toward Mathias, whose eyes were darting back and forth. Sadik scrambled up along with Heracles. Abel, Emil, and Lukas whipped around, freezing when they saw their comrades standing there.

"Wait…what just…?"

"You can thank me later."

The entire group turned to confront…another group. Feliciano stood at the front, a light smile on his face. Everyone from China to America stood behind him.

"Uh…" Mathias was speechless.

"Sorry, we have a lot of information to dump on you, okay?" Feliciano continued. "Just try to roll with it. We don't have much time." And then he explained.

Five minutes later, they were back on course, looking for the remaining nations that they had yet to find. Russia was looking for his sisters. Abel for his. Berwald silently wished he had someone of his own to look for. He gripped his staff harder. In place of that, however, he vowed he would he would do his best his to end this. That would be his reward. Retribution.

A hand on his shoulder stopped his silent tirade. He turned to see Italy just behind him. The boy smiled back up at him, reassuring. What he was reassuring Berwald of, the man wasn't sure, but nevertheless, he felt a seed of hope sprout in his heart. He felt like he was missing a piece of the bigger picture here, and he desperately wanted to know it was. He was just about to voice his question, but then Italy was gone. Just gone. He looked back toward the front of the group, where Italy had appeared, stopping them from advancing. The entire group ground to a halt, and it only took Berwald a second to figure out why.

England…no, Britannia stood in their way. He was dressed all in black, the contrast against his pale skin and hair striking. Angry green eyes seemed to consume all the light that entered him, his gaze dark.

Then he smiled a smile that sent chills down Berwald's spine. "Glad to see you all had a happy reunion, but I'm afraid I'm going to have end your little party early. I have a few things I need to _say_ to some of you." His eyes scanned the crowd, lingering on Italy, on Romano, on America, on Canada, on Russia. Berwald blinked.

All five were gone. And so was Britannia.

It was at this time that Mathias regained his ability to speak. "Well, shit."

* * *

**Dro: **Random Nordic awesomeness for the win!

**Next Chapter: **The final battle begins!


	53. When the Clock Strikes Twelve

**Dro: **Finally, this story is winding down. Jeez, this was a long fic. I've changed my estimates. I'll give it 5-7 more chapters. Anyway, please do read and **review!** (And -cough-draw me art-cough-)

**Chapter Summary:** The final battle begins!

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro doesn't own APH anymore than she did yesterday, people.

* * *

Wind screamed in his ears. He struggled to rise to his feet, the gales threatening to blow him back over. It was so strong that he could barely keep his eyes open, and he constantly blinked to restore the water that the wind dried up in seconds. Vaguely, he recognized Alfred laying next to him. His brother's eyelids fluttered open, and he immediately pushed himself to feet. Matthew caught him, holding him up as the wind threatened to knock them both back over. It didn't take a genius to figure out where they were. The roof of the ship.

The flat landing-pad like surface was wide and flat. The perfect _battle ground_. Matthew's eyes scanned the entire thing. He spotted Ivan leaning against the wall to the stairwell and the Italies somewhere nearby. Through the haze that currently coated Matthew's reality, he registered that Britannia had brought them here. Britannia. Where was he now? Matthew searched and searched for him and came up with nothing. And then, suddenly, he was there. He stood directly in the middle, his messy blond hair whipping around in the wind. Green eyes roved over everyone he'd _chosen_. When he spoke, his voice was in their heads.

_Glad you all could join me. We have some business to attend to. _

Matthew felt the spark of magic as it shot through the entire area. His pulse sped up, and he felt the air pressure increase tenfold. He didn't know what Britannia planned on doing, but he knew it couldn't be good.

_Now. _He looked directly at the dazed American brothers. _Alfred. Matthew. If you've had enough of your petty acting out, I expect you two to sit down and stay there. This should only take a moment. _

Acting out? Had Britannia truly lost it now? Was he so far gone that he truly couldn't tell that he and Alfred were _not_ on his side? They'd never been. And they never would be. But for some reason, Britannia didn't seem to see it that way. Either he was trying to force his desired reality on them or he had really lost his mind. Matthew honestly couldn't be sure which it was. He wanted to shout some sort of retort or show some kind of retaliation, but he could barely stand up, much less fight back. His body was too tired. His mind was too stressed out.

Alfred's hand landed on his shoulder, and he leaned closer to his brother, whispering in Matthew ear. "It's alright, Matt. Just leave it to me, okay?" He squeezed. "I want you to go to the other plane."

"Al, no, I can't just leave you to—"

"You can, and you will, Matt. You and Ivan. I'm going to take you over to him, and then I want you two to phase out of this plane. Feli, Lovino, and I will fight Britannia."

Matthew swallowed. Why was it that Alfred always ended up playing the hero? He didn't want to leave his brother to fight this by himself. He wanted to be there to beat the bastard that had done this to them, the bastard that had killed his papa. So why was it that he was being forced to flee the battle? He felt the tug of teleportation, and suddenly he was next to Ivan.

"Matt, now!"

He swallowed, lacing his fingers with Ivan's. Ivan looked at him, obviously confused, and Matthew couldn't bring himself to reply. He grasped onto that pleasant feeling of shifting and let it overcome him. And then the world around the pair of them changed. Matthew watched Britannia's reaction. Anger was the most prominent emotion on his face, but there was also sadness—deep sorrow—buried somewhere behind it. Matthew was afraid that would make him even more dangerous.

Matthew watched as Alfred tensed, and he knew Britannia had said something mentally that neither he or Ivan could hear any longer due to being in a different plane. He desperately wanted to go back, to be there for Alfred, but before he could even make a decision, the fight had started. Alfred launched himself at Britannia, only to be blown back before he could even make contact. He landed roughly, bouncing several times off the hard roof before rolling himself back into a fighting stance. Feliciano went next, firing off several shots from his gun. They blew up long before they reached Britannia.

Britannia had yet to move. He stood still, staring angrily at the people who had dared to attack him. Matthew shivered. It almost felt like Britannia was looking right at him, though he knew that was an impossibility. He squeezed Ivan's hand harder, and he heard his lover whisper something in Russian. They both knew this wasn't going to end well for anyone except Britannia. Unless they could find some way to defeat him from here.

Matthew scoured the roof for something—anything at all—that could help them fight off Britannia. But he saw nothing except a flat surface, a stairwell, a guardrail, and a ledge. A ledge that, at one point, he had threatened to jump off in order to escape the very man they were fighting now.

And then, he had an idea.

* * *

Feliciano willed himself away just in time to avoid a blast of fire. He landed hard on his knees, but he pushed himself back up and attacked again, trying to keep Britannia occupied long enough to draw the man's attention away from Alfred and Lovino. He would need the two of them to keep Britannia attention away from him later, and to do that, they would need to be at full strength. He had worried for some time about Alfred's magic being Britannia's, but Alfred had ended up explaining to him that because the two Arthurs had fused together, they now had a different magic, which had cut off Alfred's portion of the original Britannia's magic from him. It was Alfred's magic now and no one else's.

Which worked in their favor, unlike most things that had happened on this ship thus far. There was only one other good thing, and Feliciano was carrying that secret in his mind, along with Lovino. He thought about telling Alfred as well, but he wasn't sure how many minds he could block using the same spell that had been placed on him. It had been easy with Lovino. They shared the same magic. Which meant it was too dangerous to try. If Britannia figured out what he was planning, it was all over. He would need to keep it a secret until the very last moment, and if it turned out that he and Lovino didn't have enough magic to do it, they would need Alfred.

He wondered if there was a way to provide Britannia with even more distractions, and he wished that Britannia had taken the whole group to the roof. He felt a sharp pang of guilt for using them like pawns, for wanting to toy with their lives like this, but if his plan worked out in the end, none of that matter. And if it didn't, they would all die anyway. He felt as if some part of himself had grown cold since he'd found out the solution to defeating Britannia. But if the world could be saved this way, if it really was the only way—and England had sounded sure that it was—then he would do it no matter what the cost to his soul, to his emotions, to the bonds he had with others. In the end, if they were all safe, then that was all that mattered. Even if they hated him.

He teleported as close as he could to Britannia, pulling one of the sheets of metal off the roof and slinging it at him mentally. Britannia finally moved, dodging the sheet, and the metal embedded itself in the concrete of the stairwell. A blast of air hit him in the chest, and he went soaring, barely able to stop himself from falling over the edge and plummeting through the sky. Lovino was on Britannia again as soon as Feliciano was gone, and he attempted close combat. Britannia didn't seem at all amused, and he avoided Lovino's magic-powered fists and feet with ease.

Alfred didn't fare much better. Despite the fact that he was physically stronger and faster than either Italy, Britannia was stronger still. He blocked Alfred's hits as if they were the throws of a child, and Feliciano could tell that he was mentally taunting Alfred the entire time. Alfred seemed to become more and more irritated, and that made him more and more reckless. Of all the people Feliciano was willing to sacrifice, Alfred was at the bottom of the list. Even beyond them possibly needing him to win with their plan, he just couldn't…he couldn't lose Alfred. Not even temporarily.

He ramped up his efforts, and all three of them assaulted Britannia simultaneously. But Britannia was just too powerful. He was still just toying with them. And he would continue to do so until the remaining fragments of his patience wore out and he obliterated them all in seconds. It was bound to happen soon, and Feliciano knew he needed to act fast. The contents of the letter were still swimming through his mind. There were a lot of risks associated with this and a lot of unknowns. For all he knew, this would go completely wrong. But it was this or nothing.

So he would do this.

* * *

They were running through the endless corridors at full speed. The entire group was back together now. They were only missing the five that had been taken. But they knew where they were. They could all hear the fight taking place above them. Vash was leading the group, semi-automatic held tightly in his arms. Berwald was just behind him. Heracles. Sadik. The other Nordics. Abel and his sister. All the Asian nations. They were all prepared for the fight of their lives. It was all or nothing now.

Then Siphone and Lucaster appeared.

They both stood in the middle of the hallway, looking angry and grim. This was the final battle. And everyone knew it. Vash slid to his knees, keeping his momentum, and fired off several shots. Lucaster and Siphone were fast enough to avoid them, but they weren't fast enough to avoid everyone. Berwald was on Lucaster in moments, his staff cracking against the man's shoulder. Lucaster howled in pain, the swing of his scythe faltering, and before he had a chance to react, a knife landed in his gut, thrown by a battle ready Yao.

He fell backward against the wall, sliding down it. It was painfully obvious that he'd know this was a suicide mission. Siphone had known it too. Despite the fact that she was taking out nation after nation, sending Taiwan and Korea to the floor, sending Iceland into the window, she seemed to be painfully aware that she wasn't getting out of this. Vash wondered if the pair of them had been forced into this last battle, or if they were just so warped by Britannia that they couldn't say no to even his craziest whims. He almost pitied them. But he didn't have time for that anymore. He didn't have time for anything but pressing forward. And he kept running, leaving Siphone's end to a fiercely fighting Kiku as the group rushed toward the stairway that led to the roof.

This war would end today. It was a fact they were all beginning to accept. It could end in the next hour. In the next minute. In the next second. But it would end today, and whether they won or lost, they would all fight to the end. By the time they reached the first step, they were all back together again, some of them sporting bruises and cuts, some covered in the blood of their enemies, but all of them were read to continue, and none of them would stop. Not until they had fallen.

Which, Vash knew, might have been just around the corner. He reached the top step first and heaved open the door, the wind assaulting him as it screamed down the stairwell. He forced himself past the wall of rushing air and onto the rooftop of the massive airship, coming face to face with the battle in progress that they had all been expecting. Lovino was cradling an arm, blood congealed on his face from a cut on his temple. Alfred was limping, but he was still going at it full speed, trying to land even the most basic hit to Britannia. Feliciano was standing back, apparently assessing the situation. Russia and Canada were nowhere to be found.

Vash breathed in deeply and turned to face the crowd.

"Everyone, support the magic-users! Attack Britannia! And take him down at all costs!"

He wasn't their leader. Not even close.

But not a single person defied his order.

* * *

**Dro: **Killing off my OCs. Just like that. Poof! Gone. -chuckles-

**Next Chapter: **Britannia, increasingly annoyed by the interruptions, begins to lose his patience with the nations and decides it's finally time to end them himself.


	54. The Left Hand of God

**Dro: **Almost to the end! Almost to the end! Expect two more of these chapters and then like...at least two story wrap up chapters. There's a lot to wrap up at the end of all this. Especially after next chapter. Anyway, the usual request: please read and **review!**

**Chapter Summary: **The fight continues. Britannia executes his end game.

**Warnings: **Violence, Language

**Disclaimer: **You should know 54 chapters in that I don't own APH. I say it every single time.

* * *

Bullets seemed to fly from all directions. Alfred had been stunned to see all the nations arrive on the roof only minutes ago. He'd been shocked to watch them join the fray without hesitation. And now, he was astounded by their commitment to defeat Britannia. None of their weaponry was having any significant effect on the man save for temporarily distracting him every few seconds. But a distraction was at least some advantage, and Alfred would take any advantage he could get when it came to Britannia. He, Feliciano, and Lovino were obviously struggling. He could feel his stores of magic begin to deplete, and he knew Lovino was feeling the same. Feliciano, on the other hand, didn't seem to be struggling in the magic department, and he wondered if it had something to do with his resurrection.

But even with all of Feli's magic, they still weren't enough. This battle was the equivalent of a solar flare trying to fight a supernova. They moment they got too close, they'd be destroyed in seconds. Britannia was just too damn strong. They needed some kind of alternative battle plan. He glanced at Feliciano, who was perched atop the stairwell. His brows were furrowed in contemplation, and Alfred wondered what he was up to. He also took his brief reprieve to look around for Matt and Ivan, making sure neither of them were back here. It was hypocritical, of course, seeing as the rest of the nations were now here and fighting, but Mattie was still his brother, and he didn't want Matt fighting in this, not after what he'd just been through. He needed to stay safe, and he could only hope Ivan would keep him that way.

Clenching his fists tightly, he went back for another round, throwing everything he had at Britannia. The man stood there in the middle of the rooftop, a field of violet energy pulsating around him like a force field. As soon as Alfred hit the field, he was blown backward, like he'd been repelled by a magnet. He slid to a stop and rose back up, mentally hauling one of the panels from the roof and slinging it at the man. Annoyed green eyes flicked toward him, and the sheet of metal stopped in midair. Then it shot backward. Alfred dropped, the panel slicing through the air right where his chest would have been.

Then Britannia was on him, pinning him to the roof. The man grabbed his chin and forced Alfred to look him in the eye. _Shit! Compulsion!_ Alfred's brain was screaming, but even he didn't have enough brute strength to force Britannia off of him. Feliciano, however, apparently did. He appeared above Britannia, gripped the man by the arms, and flung him off of Alfred's trapped form. But he had already composed himself again before he even landed, not even bothering to acknowledge that Lovino's kick was deflected by his newly reformed magic shield. Alfred scrambled to his feet, eyes locked onto Britannia's darkening green ones, the pupils ringed in violet. He knew he shouldn't stare. It made him easy to compel, but he couldn't help it. Britannia gaze seem to get darker and darker, and at one point, Alfred could have sworn his eyes were pitch black. But then he blinked, and the illusion was gone, and all that was left standing in his way was a Britannia who was quickly becoming enraged.

"Feli, we have to stop him. Soon." He glanced at his lover. "When is this plan of yours going to come in?"

"As soon as I find a long enough opening. I'm going to need him distracted in order to do what I need to do, but I haven't had a long enough opening yet. He keeps watching me like a hawk because he knows I know something he doesn't. It's bothering him."

Alfred straightened his back, ignoring the screaming in his now bruised muscles. "I'll keep him off you as long as I can. And the others too." He eyed the other nations, who were still firing off shots at Britannia. They had little cover on the roof, and Alfred feared that, at any moment, Britannia would snap and kill them all. He knew it was coming. It was the inevitable end. So they had to win before that happened.

"Alright. I'll try my best to be quick about it, but I'm going to need Lovino for this too, I'm sure. It'll take me too much power on my own." Feliciano's eyes were calculating now, as if he was determining the exact set of steps necessary to complete his plan.

"I wish I knew what you were planning." Alfred mumbled wistfully.

Feliciano smiled at him, a genuine, soft smile. "When this is all over, I'll be happy to explain it to you."

Alfred snorted, but he couldn't stifle his own smile. "I'll hold you to that."

Feliciano's feet dropped suddenly dropped out from under him, along with a massive section of the roof. The Netherlands barely avoided falling into the sinkhole, and many of the other nations were forced to flee or fall. Feliciano reappeared beside Alfred, and they both stared at Britannia, who was glaring at them.

"Shit." Alfred whispered. "He's really starting to lose it now."

"We need to end this. Fast."

Alfred eyed Lovino, who was struggling to rise to his feet on the opposite side of Britannia. "I'll hold him off. You and Lovino execute your plan. Now. Got it?"

"Yeah. Got it. Just be careful."

Alfred nodded. "Of cour—" He stopped mid-sentence. Britannia had barely moved at all, but the raising of his hand was a shrieking alarm in Alfred's head. He held his hand out horizontally, his palm facing the sky. His dark green eyes were staring _through_ Alfred, and before anything had started to happened, Alfred knew this was Britannia's end game. "Feli, he's going to—!"

Britannia slowly turned his hand.

And with his hand turned the ship.

It was gradual at first, the structure beginning to tilt at an angle. But the steeper it got, the more Alfred realized that they were in deep trouble. He whipped around, screaming at the top of his lungs for everyone to hold on to something. There was no way they could catch everyone if they fell. Alfred turned back around, eyes meeting Feliciano's.

"Help me stop him."

Feliciano didn't need any coaxing. They were on Britannia a second later, but it was all to no avail. Britannia seemed to have strengthened his magic field ten fold, and Alfred and Feliciano bounced right off of it. Alfred's heart was breaking by the millisecond, as he heard his fellow nations screaming in fear, many of them unable to find anything to hold onto on the mostly flat roof. Alfred hoped to God that Matt was okay. As he was repelled one more time, he spotted the distinct form of Japan, his sword lodged into a gap in the panels. He was holding on for dear life, Korea clinging to his legs. Many of the nations had slid down to the narrow guard railing, where they were desperately trying to keep their balance. Some of them had made to the side of the stairwell. Sweden and Denmark had taken cover—ironically—in the spot in the roof that Britannia had crushed, along with Iceland and Norway.

The ship was almost completely vertical now.

But it just kept turning.

Alfred knew exactly what the bastard was doing.

He was going to turn the ship upside down.

And throw every single nation to their deaths.

He was on its side, running along the top of the guard railing toward Britannia, who had teleported there to watch the "show" unfold. He hand was still turning at that dreadfully slow pace, and Alfred caught a hint of a smile. He was enjoying it, watching them all fear for their lives. Lovino came at Britannia from the top, and Britannia finally reacted, shooting a massive burst of wind at him. Lovino was blasted away, spinning through the air and over the side of the ship. He was back to the railing a few moments later, trying to steady his dizzied body.

They were running out of time.

And then, Ivan was there.

He barreled into Britannia, knocking the man off balance.

Matt appeared out of nowhere, grabbed Ivan, and disappeared again.

The ship immediately stopped turning.

As Britannia rose back to his feet, Alfred and Feliciano met his each other's eyes. _Attack._ They both screamed at each other. Then they were off, Alfred ripping a chunk of metal from the side of the ship, teleporting with it, and using his body like a sling shot to launch it right at Britannia's head. Britannia ducked underneath it, but Feliciano was waiting for him. He tore his gun from its holster and fired off several shots, two of which slammed right into Britannia's magic field full force. Not enough to penetrate, but more than enough to knock him off the side of the ship.

Lovino and Alfred followed him, Alfred signaling for Feliciano to initiate his plan. But Britannia, though disoriented, still seemed to be ahead of them. A massive violet spark ignited at the tips of his fingers and shot out like lightning, striking Feliciano in the chest. The stunned Italy stumbled backward and fell over the other side. Alfred cried out and teleported back to the railing, peering over the edge. Feliciano laid motionless on the side of the stairwell, several nations bent over him. He wasn't dead. Alfred could still feel his magic. But he was unconscious.

And that was bad.

Lovino appeared next to him. "Shit…Feli…"

"You know the plan, right? Can you do it without him?"

Lovino shook his head solemnly. "I know the plan, but it involves a spell that Feli didn't teach me. He was going to…to connect our minds or something to do it."

Alfred swallowed, a tang of bitter copper on his tongue. "What do we do now?"

"You could surrender, you know? And make your end so much easier." Britannia walked toward them with a slow, nonchalant gait. "Except you, of course, Alfred. You belong with me."

"Are you still deluded enough to think that? Really, Britannia? After all this. After me fighting you. Why are you still so bent on Matt and me staying with you?" Alfred growled lowly.

A deep look of sadness began to pool in Britannia's eyes, and Alfred was taken aback. What was this? Where had this sudden burst of genuine emotion come from? Britannia paused where he was and stared up longingly at the sky. "Oh, Alfred…how can make you understand what you and Matthew mean to me?" He didn't bother looking Alfred in the eye, and the American got the distinct feeling that Britannia wasn't even talking to him. _He's lost it_. _He's not even…he's not even here anymore_.

The original Britannia's deluded mind plus England's incredible amount of stress had sent this Britannia over the edge. Alfred was surprised the man was even coherent at this point. The mental strain had to be immense. It wasn't natural for two people to fuse into one. It was an aberration of nature. It was forced. And this was the result. A man that had quickly descended into madness. They had to stop him. They had to stop him before this got any further.

A barrage of bullets hit Britannia's field, breaking him from his reverie. Alfred snapped his eyes toward the other nations. Most of them were now along the guardrail, some of them injured from the fall. Several had taken their guns and started shooting again, refusing to give up. The nations on the stairwell wall were doing the same. Alfred knew he needed to stop them. If had been useful before, their interference, but now it was only serving to aggravate Britannia further. He made to shout for them to stop, but Britannia beat him to it. Another bolt of lightning burst out, hitting Netherlands dead in the chest. He collapsed onto the stairwell, his gun falling useless over the edge. Belgium screamed and grabbed her brother. Alfred couldn't tell if he was dead or not. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

His eyes caught sight of someone climbing up the vertical side of the roof's guardrail. It was Gilbert. He ascended it quickly, not stopping until he was just a few feet behind Lovino, who moved into a protective position to guard him. They were going to die, the other nations, if they kept this up. Alfred knew it for a fact. Some how, he had to stop Britannia. He glanced down at the unconscious Feliciano, who was sprawled out on the cement wall. He hadn't stirred. If he didn't wake up soon, they were all done for.

* * *

Matthew watched his brother's plight calmly. He wasn't sure exactly why he was so composed, but he thought it may have had something to do with his resignation. He had resigned himself to his impending fate, the one he would face at his own hands. He stood behind Britannia, Ivan at his side, waiting for the right moment. Ivan was wholly ignorant to his plan, and he wanted to keep it that way. He loved Ivan, but defeating Britannia was greater than any love. It hurt him to admit that, but it was the truth. If they lost here, then there would be no more love in the world because Britannia would destroy it all. So he would have to push his own feelings back, and he would have to do this.

He'd been waiting for Feliciano to execute his plan, but…it looked like that wasn't going to pan out any time soon. So that left only one other option. Now, he just needed to wait for the right moment. His breathed deeply, trying to ignore the pang in his heart as he watched Netherlands get struck down by Britannia's wrath.

"Matvey, there must be something we can do…" Ivan murmured.

There was nothing Ivan could do. There was nothing Matthew would _let_ him do. But there was something he could do, and he would do it, as soon as the time was right. He had to time this perfectly. He only had one shot at this.

The ship lurched dangerously, and Matthew struggled to maintain his balance. He froze, shock rushing through his veins, as he watched just what was occurring. The screech of distorting metal filled his ears, and he had no choice but to stare—mesmerized—as the ship began to split in half. Right across the middle. Right above where the Nordics were, above where all the other nations were.

Britannia was going to let half the ship fall to the Earth, and with it, all the nations. "No…" It came out as a whisper. Alfred, ever the louder, screamed the same at Britannia, who seemed to ignore him. Britannia was still staring at the sky, apparently engrossed by the clouds. This could be it. This could be his opportunity. He tensed, ready to move any second now. Small explosions wracked the ship as wires and girders and plaster were pulled apart by the force of Britannia's magic. The nations along the guardrail were forced to duck and cover as a constant stream of debris rained down on them.

Alfred attacked. He was instantly deflected. Lovino tried with the same result. They weren't strong enough. They just weren't strong enough. But in the end, it wouldn't be physical strength that determined the winner. Not this time. And for him, not ever again. He watched and waited for his opening, waited for Britannia to get distracted.

And then he watched Britannia crack.

* * *

**Dro: **Unsurprisingly, it continues to get much worse for them.

**Next Chapter: **The battle ends abruptly. But the tragedy is far from over. (And as a warning, for once, I'm going to tell you to expect _character death_.)


	55. On the Eve of Armageddon

**Dro: **I warned you all last chapter and I will warn you again: **character death ensues**. Are we clear? When you get to the second half of this chapter, expect it to be incredibly shocking. It is not particularly graphic, but it is very _brutal_. Got it? Okay, now you may read.

**Chapter Summary: **The battle with Britannia comes to an abrupt end. But the tragedy is far from over.

**Warnings: **_Character death en masse; _Violence

**Disclaimer: **I don't think you'll want me to own APH after this...

* * *

It was instantaneous. Once second Britannia had been standing there, deflecting Alfred and Lovino's blows with what appeared to be no effort. And the next…he snapped. A massive burst of energy shot out from his magic field, hitting Alfred and Lovino square in the chests and sending them flying. The blast went right through Matthew and Ivan, who watched in horror as Lovino bounced off the side of the airship and began to slide down the rounded wall toward certain death. He didn't stir, and they both realized he'd been knocked out. His body got dangerously close to the point of no return before Alfred appeared, grabbed him, and teleported him back to relative safety. He gently laid Lovino out and ordered Gilbert to protect him.

Two down. One to go.

Matthew nervously gazed at Feliciano's prone body. He hadn't woken up yet, and for all Matthew knew, he wouldn't any time soon. They had quite possibly lost their only plan for winning. Which meant it was his turn to try. But he couldn't yet. Not with Britannia on full alert now. He had to wait for the man to be distracted. Britannia seemed to have lost it at this point. His magic was flaring wildly, and his mouth was open in a harsh sneer. His eyes, now totally violet, were smoldering, and Matthew was sure that he would he would release enough magic to kill them all any second.

The split of the airship picked up its pace, and several nations screamed as the bottom half began to sink lower, threatening to break off and fall to the Earth at any moment. They had to stop this. Now. Right now. No more waiting. He fidgeted. He wanted this over with. He wanted to win this now. But he couldn't attack. Not until Britannia was sufficiently distracted. He only hoped that Alfred could do it. His brother was limping now, blood running down his face from a laceration on his forehead. His cheek was bruised, and Matthew was sure that his body was battered beneath his clothing. Alfred was nearly at his limit. A few more attacks from Britannia and he would be done.

But that didn't stop him from trying. He was on Britannia again, throwing everything he had at him. Britannia dodged every punch, every kick, deflected every magic blow. Alfred couldn't even touch him. And his continued efforts only served to make Britannia even angrier. Which led to him making a vital mistake. He was so enraged at Alfred that he was blind to something so utterly simple: an uneven piece metal panel just behind him. He tripped over it and went down, startled. Alfred saw his window. He hopped on top of the fallen man, pinning him down with all the magic he had left. Britannia roared in rage, and the feral sound sent shivers down Matthew's spine.

Now was his chance. He could run up to them, shift back into the normal plane and—

A massive burst of flames shot up Alfred's arm, and he screamed, releasing Britannia's left hand. The hand that then grabbed part of the guardrail, tore it free, and shoved it right through Alfred's chest.

Time seemed to stop.

Alfred was frozen, his face contorted in disbelief. Britannia seemed equally shocked, as if his body had moved of its own accord instead of by his command. Finally, Alfred sank to his knees, releasing his hold on Britannia. Britannia's hand, still wrapped around the pole, loosened and slipped off. A dribble of blood ran down Alfred chin from his mouth. There were no words to be said. Britannia had been so adamant about not killing Alfred…

…and now he had.

It didn't even seem to register to the deranged man. He simply sat there, stunned and motionless, as Alfred fell over, the light fading from his eyes. The metal pipe had gone straight through his heart. Matthew felt the world fade around him. There was only him and Alfred, standing thirty feet apart, one of them quickly dying, the other watching in absolute horror.

He felt it.

Even in this plane, he felt his brother die, felt his other half get torn away from him. Alfred's body went lax, his dull eyes staring, unseeing, at the blue sky above him.

Alfred was dead.

Dead.

"Alfred…" Ivan whispered.

Something snapped inside his chest.

He touched Ivan and sent him back to the other plane before taking off. Ignoring Ivan's startled scream, ignoring the entire world, he rushed straight at Britannia's unmoving form. The man's green eyes were wide and unfocused, his face stained with Alfred's blood. Matthew lunged for him. This had always been his plan. But it was supposed to be executed to save everyone. Not as a last ditch effort after someone he loved had died. After the nations of the world were doomed.

He shifted planes and careened into Britannia, shifting back out of phase the moment they touched. He clung to the startled man, sending them both over the edge of the ship. Britannia gasped as he realized what had happened.

"Matthew, take us back!"

"No." Matthew answered simply. He buried his face in the man's shoulder and closed his eyes. Britannia struggled in his arms, and Matthew considered letting him go and just falling to his death peacefully. But no, he figured this would be an even bigger blow to Britannia, to die while clinging to his self-proclaimed lover. So Matthew held him tightly and let the wind rush by him. They fell through clouds, moisture dampening their clothing. Barcelona grew beneath them, becoming larger and larger with every second.

"Matthew!" Britannia screamed into right into his ear, his lips pressed against it. "I'll bring him back! I'll find a way! I promise! Just take us back! I swear to God I didn't mean to kill him! I swear!"

He really just didn't get it. This wasn't about Alfred in the long run. It was about everything he'd ever done to everyone in their world. Every innocent he'd killed. Every nation he'd harmed. Every city he'd brought to ruin. But Britannia likely didn't even acknowledge those things as problems. He was so far gone now. His mind was in shambles. So Matthew just shook his head and let them fall. Vaguely, he realized he was crying. He wasn't sure how long he had been, and he wasn't sure why. Because of his impending death? Because Alfred was gone? Because his friends and allies and lover were still up on that airship that was doomed for disaster?

It might have been all of those. It might have been none of them. The half-destroyed buildings of Barcelona came into focus. They were heading straight for a neighborhood of apartment buildings. For a moment, Matthew was mesmerized at the moment. They were falling so quickly through the air, rapidly approaching an instantaneous death. Two months ago, he never would have imagined this sort of death for himself. As a sacrifice to save the world. He wondered if Alfred would be proud of him.

He felt himself shaking, and he realized that Britannia was sobbing. Matthew sighed against the man's shoulder. Somewhere in there was England, was the man that helped raise him and care for him, the man that helped him become his own nation. It wasn't just the original Britannia he was helping to kill. It was both of them. He mouthed an apology into Britannia's neck. _I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Arthur. So sorry. _He wondered if Arthur would understand him, if, in whatever afterlife nations had, he would meet up with his former guardian again. Would Arthur be angry? Disappointed? He could only hope Arthur would accept that he'd done what was necessary. He loved Arthur dearly, and he wanted nothing more than the man's freedom from this…this abomination of a natural state. This may have been the only way for that to happen, for all he knew.

_Forgive me, Arthur, for this. For everything. _

His mind was suddenly overcome with thoughts of Ivan. _Ivan…forgive me for leaving you. I love you so much, and I don't want to leave you. I really don't. But it's this or the end of the world. And I can't let that happen. I love you more than anything, so please keep going after I'm gone. Please don't let me drag you down. Keep walking forward, Ivan. For me if for nothing else._

He opened his eyes. The Earth rushed closer to them. They were heading straight for the roof of a still intact building. He watched the drab gray get closer and closer with wonder. Britannia screamed hysterically. A scream of defeat. Matthew smiled as they neared their end.

_I won, Al. I won. _He closed his eyes, and he could see his brother standing in the distance, smiling. _Just wait a bit longer for me._ _I'll be there soon, brother._

They hit the ground. There was a millisecond of unimaginable pain.

And nothing else.

* * *

Ivan let the harsh wind soothe him. He cradled Alfred's body closer to his chest, the metal pole long extracted and tossed aside. He'd closed Alfred's eyes, letting the man rest in peace. He swallowed thickly, wondering if the brothers were reunited yet. The fall couldn't have lasted more than a minute or so. He let the tears flow freely. He should have seen it coming. He had noticed Matvey's mind working on something. He could tell that his lover had been planning something. But he'd been too slow to stop it, to slow pick up just what it was until it was far too late.

Matvey was gone now. Forever. As was Alfred. He gazed down at the motionless man in his arms, brushing the stray hairs from his face. _My rival. My friend. I could not save either you or your brother, it seems. But you…you two…you have saved us all. _And they had the paid the price for it. Britannia had been defeated. It was over. Done with. The end. But had the cost been too great? Ivan couldn't help but wonder. What future did Canada and America have now with their respective nations dead? They would crumble without Matvey and Alfred. As would the Netherlands too now—

The ship lurched, and Ivan braced himself, flicking his eyes over to a startled Gilbert, who was protectively clinging to Romano. His red eye widened as he peered over onto the deck of the ship. Ivan forced his body to turn around on his knees, and he felt his heart leap from his chest when he saw what was happening. The damage had been too much. Britannia had nearly torn the ship in half, and now it was falling apart. There was an explosion, near the other end, and several nations screamed as the force of the blast threw them over the edge. Ivan could only watch in horror as Spain and China fell. Korea and Taiwan screamed for their brother, but it was too late. Metal snapped along the line that Britannia had had split wide open, one piece catching the side of Denmark's face and sending him tumbling over. He fell the length of the roof and slammed into the guardrail on the other side, eliciting high-pitched screams of horror from the surrounding nations.

They were all going to die.

They had defeated Britannia and yet…it was still over for them. The ship wasn't going to last much longer. Ivan recalled that Matvey had said it was _powered_ by Britannia. How long did magic last when the magic wielder was dead? They were miles above the Earth with no way to escape. This was the end for all of them. Alfred, Matvey, and the Italy brothers had worked so hard to save them all, and yet…

The ship began to sink. Slowly at first. Ivan's stomach dropped at the feeling. It wasn't fast enough to throw them off. It seemed that Britannia's waning magic was still strong enough to dampen their rate of descent. But what would happen when the ship came crashing to the ground? They would all die instantly. He glanced at the unconscious Feliciano and Lovino. They _had_ to wake up. Soon. The brothers' magic was the only chance they had.

There was another explosion from the crater in the deck, and it sent the Nordics flying. A badly burned Iceland and Norway managed to land on the stairwell, but Sweden missed it, plunging to his death just like Denmark before him. One by one, they were all dying. He spotted his sisters desperately clinging to the guardrail at the other end. Belarus had slipped off and was holding on for dear life, Ukraine desperately trying to pull her back up. All Ivan could do was watch as her hold slipped, sending his younger sister falling to her death.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch.

Many more followed. Hong Kong was knocked off by a piece of falling debris. Vash was crushed by a massive girder as he pushed Taiwan out of the way to save her life. The fire that had nearly taken the lives of the remaining Nordics was spreading, dark smoking choking everyone on the stairwell. The ship began to pick up speed as it plunged toward the ground, and Ivan felt his body begin to lift. He grabbed the guardrail and held on halfheartedly. There was really no point in it. The only purpose it would serve was to allow him to watch the rest of his comrades die. He glanced once more at the fallen America in his arms. _It seems I will be joining you and Matvey soon, my rival._

Ivan sat atop the airship and watched the end of the world unfold. Greece and Turkey were the next victims. Japan followed them soon after. He watched the people he'd known for centuries have their lives extinguished in seconds. He was resigned to it now. Death. There were no more tears to cry or hopes to voice. This was the Armageddon they had long feared and waited for. It had not come about from Global Warming or a freak meteor strike. There had been no super-volcano, nor had the sun decided their fate. He wanted to laugh at that. Not once had anyone imagined the ends of most of the nations in the world would be at the hands of magic, would be at the hands of a man from a parallel universe. How ludicrous.

Ivan peered down at the remaining nations. Belgium desperately clung to her brother's body. Norway and Iceland held each other close. And…Ivan watched, wide-eyed, as a miracle unfolded him before. A miracle he had been hoping so frantically for but had not expected to actually happen. With this miracle, hope for life was restored. With this miracle, the end of the world could be averted. Ivan felt like he was witnessing the second coming of Christ, like God had returned from the heavens to save their weary souls.

Feliciano had opened his eyes.

* * *

**Dro: **Hey, look, is that hope I see in the distance?

**Next Chapter: **Feliciano desperately attempts to save the world. And we finally get to see just what England wrote in his letter.


	56. Paradise Regained

**Dro: **And the horror shows finally ends in this chapter. Certainly took long enough. Just a few more chapters to go. At least two more. But _probably_ three. I don't think I can fit the full wrap up into two chapters. There's just a lot of stuff. I'm also still stuck between the **fluffy ending** and the **mind-fuck ending**. One line can change it all. I'm so tempted...Got any preferences? The latter is most certainly my type of thing, but I feel like I've been so mean to them already that maybe they just deserve to be happy...

**Chapter Summary: **Feliciano wakes up and tries to save the world. Lovino helps. The contents of England's letter finally come to light.

**Warnings: **Violence

**Disclaimer:** Nearing the end of this story, and I have told you I don't own APH 55 times already. I'd feel kind of disturbed if you hadn't gotten the message yet.

* * *

Consciousness returned to him in the form of choking, thick black smoke, and the raucous explosions and screams of the dire situation around him. His mind was muddled at first, his brain failing to understand the world around him. Then it came back to him. He bolted up with a gasp, only for his lungs to burn as he inhaled the toxic fumes and smoke around him. He looked around quickly, trying to figure out just what happened. He vaguely remembered being struck by one of Britannia's attacks, but what had happened after that? He tried to sense for other magic, but found none other than a low pulse from Lovino. Where was Alfred? Where was Britannia?

He glanced to his side, spotting a badly burned Norway and Iceland, who were struggling to breathe. Near them was a solemn Belgium, tears streaming down her face as she held the body of her brother. Feliciano's pulse quickened. He rolled over and peered down at the railing, realizing that only a few of the nations were left standing. Overwhelming guilt rushed through his veins. He was supposed to have saved all these people…and he still could, it was true. But…so many of them had suffered death. It wasn't supposed to have been this way. He craned his neck up toward the other end, spotting Ivan sitting on the guardrail at the top. There was something in his arms.

No, someone.

Alfred.

He was there before he could blink.

Ivan glanced up at him, hopelessness pooling in his violet eyes. But Feliciano could barely look at Ivan. His attention was consumed by the motionless man the Russian's arms. There was no attempt at denial. Alfred's body held no warmth, no magic, no life. There was a wound right where his heart was, a wound that would have killed him in seconds. Feliciano sank to his knees and reached out, running his hands through Alfred's hair. He stomach twisted tightly, and he bit back tears. He tried his best to stifle it. He couldn't let this stop him. He had to get up and finish this. He had to.

"Ivan, where is Britannia?" His voice shook, and he cursed himself, feeling the tears begin to escape from his eyelids and burn down his cheeks.

Ivan refused to meet his gaze. "Dead. Matvey used his power and…knocked Britannia off the ship. There is no magic in that plane. They both fell to their deaths." Ivan's voice was empty and apathetic, and Feliciano could plainly see the crippling emotional damage that had been done to the man.

He placed his hand on Ivan's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll fix this. I'll fix all of this." He rose to his feet, unhampered by the descent of the airship as it plunged toward the Earth. He spotted his unconscious brother in Gilbert's arms and willed himself over. He knelt down and reached for him, Gilbert relinquishing his hold. Feliciano placed two fingers on his brother's temple and concentrated. _Fratello, wake up! I need you!_

Lovino's eyes snapped open, and he gasped. He breathed heavily, and he peered up at his brother with wonder. "Feliciano, you…"

"We don't have to time to talk. We need to execute my plan. Now."

"But…" Gilbert murmured, "Britannia's already dead."

Feliciano stared at him, determined and confident. "This plan was not only meant to defeat Britannia."

* * *

_He stumbled down the hallway, hoping to God he remembered the right way to the room that England had shown him. Finally, he came to a door that he thought was the right one. It was. The room was decorated the same, and the same nightstand sat beside the same bed, beckoning him. He slowly walked over to that little wooden nightstand, the thing that could quite possibly contain the only wait to defeat Britannia. With shaking hands, he pulled the drawer open. It was filled with trinkets and junk, and Feliciano sifted through it, looking for the letter he prayed was still there. He ended up removing the drawer all together, and he turned it on its head, spilling its contents onto the bed. _

_The last to fall out was a pristine white envelope, which landed on top of the pile. Feliciano sat the drawer down and reached over, taking the letter into his hands. He was aware he was holding the thing like he worshipped it, and in a way, he did. He turned the envelope over in his hands a few times, a part of himself still skeptical that this was actually the key. Finally, he tucked one of his fingers under the sealed flap and began to rip it open. When he was finished, he carefully slipped the folded letter out and tossed the envelope aside, back onto the junk pile._

_The letter was crisp and new, perfectly folded. He deftly unfolded it and smoothed it on the nightstand, his eyes finally falling onto the text. It was written in England's perfect, flowing handwriting. _

* * *

'_To whoever I instructed to read this,_

_If you are reading this letter, then you can safely assume something has happened to me that prevented me from doing this magic myself. Whether I am dead or have suffered some other fate, it does not matter. What matters is that this spell be completed as soon as possible. Britannia must be defeated soon. If he is not, I fear that there will irreparable consequences for our world._

_I spent many days secretly researching a way to defeat this man whenever he was not aboard the ship. It was hard to hide it from him. His mental powers are great. But I was able to hide my memories and my research from him long enough to craft the following spell. If, for some reason, I am alive and well and yet, have no memory of this letter or its contents, then that means I was forced to erase the memories of them from my mind in order to prevent Britannia from discovering them. _

_I am truly sorry for leaving this burden on you, whoever you may be. If you are reading this, I am quite sure that you have suffered an untimely death yourself, and I sincerely apologize for not allowing you to rest in peace as you no doubt deserved. I entrusted an echo of myself to provide you with enough information to get you to this letter during the period in which you were dead, but I'm afraid that is all the help I can give at this point other than this letter. _

_By now I'm probably just rambling…so I should get to the point, no? I did an immense amount of research in order to determine if there was a way to defeat my other self. The sheer level of his magic is unfathomable, and I am truly afraid there is no practical way of defeating him. On top of that, he has already killed several of us, and his airships have destroyed most of the major cities in the world. Truly, there is little hope left that our world will be able to rebuild after this. And it was with this thought in mind that I decided on an alternative solution. _

_Keep in mind that this spell will take an immense amount of magic, but I trust that Italy and Romano, who I have heard now possess magic, will be able to do it. It can be done at any time, anywhere. It does not matter. As long as the spell is completed, nothing else matters. Not the lives of anyone aboard this ship or the lives of anyone down below. Because this spell will bring __everyone__ who has died back._

_This spell, that I have no name for, will reset time to the point just before I used the summoning spell that brought Britannia here. All the damage he has done will be reversed. All the people he has killed will return to life. It will quite literally erase every moment of time that has happened from the moment I started the summoning to the moment this spell is completed. _

_But, like all things, there is a catch. In order to reset time, this spell must also be able to acknowledge what is of our universe and what is of Britannia's, and unfortunately, his magic counts. This is a variable I cannot control, and I do not know the exact repercussions of it, but I do know that __something_ _will happen to anyone who has come in direct contact with any of the magic from the other universe. Anyone who has stepped foot on this ship. Anyone who was hurt or healed or otherwise affected by Britannia's magic is at risk. According to the laws of this spell, Britannia's magic is supposed to be rejected by the spell and sent back where it came from. But, you see, therein lies a conundrum. _

_If someone from our world contains traces of Britannia's magic, then what will the spell do with them? The best I can surmise is that, while recognizing the affected as a part our world, the spell will undoubtedly __not__ perform the reset on them. That is, they will physically return to the right point in time, but any injury they have will remain, any magic they possess will remain, anything that has come about as a result of Britannia's magic will remain. The only thing that does not fall under that is death. Once dead, Britannia's magic no longer has a hold, and thus, anyone who was affected by the magic but has since died will be reset normally. _

_It is a risk, this spell. But it is the only thing I was able to come up with, the only way I could think of to save this world, to defeat Britannia, to right the wrongs that, in truth, are my fault. So please, do your best to get this spell to the people that can perform it. I beg this of you. I have watched the world fall to pieces below me while I sit here helpless to save it. And the cause of it all was me. So, please…please…make sure this spell takes effect. _

_Everything below this point is the spell. And once you finish reading it, another minor spell will activate that will shield your mind from Britannia's magic. But be warned, do not freely speak of this information to anyone. Britannia's powers are vast, and he can weave his way into any unprotected mind. So be wise, my friend. And, if we are unable to ever meet again—for only God knows what will happen to me after this—then let me thank you now for finding this, for using this. Truly, you will be the savior of this world where I have to failed to be._

_Arthur Kirkland, England'_

* * *

Feliciano pressed his forehead against Lovino's, their magic intermingling. The mental connection started almost immediately, their minds melding into one force, one power. He could hear his brother's heartbeat, his brother's thoughts. He shared with Lovino everything he had seen, everything he had learned. The contents of the letter flowed from him and into his brother. The spell burned its way across their neural pathways, overtaking all other thoughts.

Feliciano felt his physical body begin to fall faster, and he knew the airship was now falling freely through the air. They had to do this now. He concentrated, pulling every last ounce of his magic from every cell in his body and pooling it together with Lovino's. Their hands were clasped together tightly, their eyes closed.

_Lovino, are you ready?_

_Yes._

And there was nothing else to say.

They did not speak the out loud. They spoke together in their minds, each word like a flare as they passed it. There were bright lights dancing in their shared mind, the energy building up between them. It would be a strain, such a spell, on their magic, but they could do it. They had to do it. So they would. They picked up the pace as the ship's descent quickened, and at one point, neither brother could feel the world around them at all. It was just them and their mind and the spell. They zipped through the words, each one a bright red smoldering picture in their heads. They ran through each line, one after the other. Faster and faster and faster.

Somewhere, in the distance, they both realized that the ship had hit the ground and was quickly collapsing in on itself, quickly killing everyone left alive on board. But they did not consciously register it. It was only them. And the last five words.

The last word emerged from their mouths as a scream, a scream that seemed to permeate the air around them, a scream that seem to spread throughout the entire world in a single moment. They screamed.

And then the world stood still.

Their eyes opened, and they gazed at each other, brown on green. They both smiled, the build up of magic too immense for them to handle. They lost consciousness at the same point, and they fell on each other, releasing their holds on the massive sphere of energy they'd built up. The last thing anyone left alive registered was a massive blast of violet light that consumed everything in its path and continued on, seeming to engulf to the entire world.

And perhaps it did.

* * *

Feliciano blinked. His gaze was focused on a golden cherub carved into the wall, his fingers lightly brushing up against it. He paused, his mind suddenly blank. Where was this? Why was he here? Something about this situation seemed both right and wrong, as if he was supposed to be here in this exact moment, standing in this position, but, at the same time, he wasn't.

And then he remembered.

At first, the memories seemed to trickle back in, vague images of an airship and a battle and powerful magic floating into his mind. But then the floodgates opened, and the memories assaulted him with stark clarity. Every pain he'd felt, every emotion, seemed to flow through his veins in a single instant. It hit him so hard he nearly doubled over, but he managed to keep standing, managed to steady his breathing, and the moment gradually passed.

Every piece of the puzzle clicked back into place, and he instantly knew where he was. And he knew, too, who it was that stood behind him. Knew who was currently staring up at the fresco on the ceiling of the cathedral that they'd visited for he and Lovino's birthday. And, for a moment, he was convinced that he had he really died and that this was where he had been sent. For a moment, he was too terrified to turn around and look.

And then he did.

His heart skipped a beat.

Standing in the middle of the cathedral, his neck craned as he looked straight up, blue eyes staring in wonder and interest at the ceiling…

…was Ludwig.

* * *

**Dro: **Hey, look! I fixed everything in a single chapter. Sorta...

**Next Chapter: **Everyone suddenly finds themselves right back where they started. Literally. The world is restored. The nations are alive. And everything is back to normal. Except for one little problem.


	57. Trouble in Paradise I

**Dro: **This story is slowly drawing to a close. At least two more chapters after this. I feel like I should make it three just for an even 60. Eh, we'll see.

**Chapter Summary: **The world has been restored. Everything is back to normal. And the confused nations are left to try and get their bearings. Oh, and there's one little problem.

**Warnings: **Mentions of past violence

**Disclaimer: **I'm tired of repeating myself. Go back to chapter 1 and read that disclaimer.

* * *

He stood motionless in his place, unable to move, unable to breathe. Before him stood a dream that had long slipped from his grip, a desire that had long fizzled out and left nothing but a glowing ember in its place. He couldn't take his eyes off the man. Every emotion he'd long let go cold suddenly caught fire again, and he was sure he was going to break down right then and there. But he couldn't. No, he had other things to see to, other things to do. He may have been standing in the same place at the same time, but he was not the same frightened, emotional boy he'd been the first time around. He had taken responsibilities on his shoulders. He had taken a risk to save this world. And now he had to follow his plan through. He had a million people to talk to and a million things to say.

This was only another one of them.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, trying to quell the raging emotions that were making his heart pound. He parted his lips to speak just as Ludwig turned his attention away from the ceiling and back toward him. Ludwig's demeanor changed in an instant. His blue eyes widened in confusion and fear.

"Feliciano? What…what happened to your face?"

Feliciano bit his lip, brushing his scar with his fingers. He'd nearly forgotten about that with everything else that had been going on. But he supposed small things like that became a lot more noticeable when you weren't fighting for your life. "I…" What was he supposed to say? He could try to explain the truth. Ludwig would have to eventually know about it, but how could he explain it here? To Ludwig, he'd been perfectly normal one second and had had a mysterious scar the next. Ludwig had never been affected by Britannia's magic. He probably had no memory of the attack by Drovich at all.

"Um, well, that is…"

The door to the cathedral burst open, revealing a huffing Gilbert. Feliciano realized for the first time that Lovino was also here, sitting in that same pew he'd sat in the first time around, holding the same bible he'd been holding, though it was now lax in fingers, threatening to fall to the floor as his wide green eyes stared in disbelief at the scene around him. Gilbert stopped cold as he saw Ludwig standing there. He was back in the clothes he'd been wearing that day, the scarred skin over his missing eye now visible without his eye patch. He scanned the room quickly before settling his gaze on Lovino. He looked immensely relieved.

"Feli…you did this?"

Feliciano nodded numbly. "Yes. Lovino and I did this. It was the spell."

Gilbert laughed dryly. "Damn, I expected something spectacular, but this?" He eyed his younger brother again, smiling. "How're you feeling, West?"

Ludwig let his eyes rest on each of them individually. "What is going on here? Why do you all look different? Why…why are injured, Gilbert? Feliciano?"

The three of them glanced at one another. This was going to take a lot of time to explain. It was true that they had plenty of time now, but they also had a million and one things to do. They would have to call a world meeting, first of all. That was a given. No one had known what the spell would do besides the brothers. Feliciano would have to explain that to everyone. And then…and then there was Alfred. Alfred. He had to check on Alfred. Ludwig was back, but what about Alfred? What if something had gone wrong and—

A shrill ringing filled the air, and they all jumped. Feliciano stood there for a moment, unsure of what was happening, until he realized it was his mobile ringing. He slowly pulled it from his pocket and stared at the screen.

Alfred was calling.

* * *

Three hundred sheets of paperwork fluttered to the ground, and he couldn't have cared less. He stood there motionless for several seconds before turning around and around, checking and double checking that, yes, this was the office at the embassy that he had been in the day that Britannia had attacked. His hand shot up to his chest, searching for the wound that was supposed to have been there. He hadn't forgotten a single thing. It had all returned to him in moments with frightening clarity. The memories of the pain were almost the worst, only outmatched by the memories of the fear.

He remembered his moment of death perfectly. He shivered at the image of the metal bar sticking out of his chest, fatally injuring his heart. He remembered falling over, his eyes landing one last time on that clear blue sky. And then…nothing. His stomach lurched, and stumbled over to the trashcan, purging everything in his stomach. His body shook, and he desperately tried to steady his breathing. When he'd finally succeeded in calming down, he fumbled for his cell. There was no way all that had been some kind of dream. No way in hell. Which could only mean one thing.

He scrolled through his massive list of contacts until he landed on the one labeled "Italy." He pushed the button and held the phone up to his ear. It rang for several seconds before someone picked up.

"Alfred?" Feliciano's hushed, nervous voice came through.

"Feliciano…it's me. Are…did…did you do this?"

"Yes." He replied simply. There was a hint of confusion in his voice, and Alfred could understand that feeling perfectly. "It…The spell…reset time to the point just before Britannia was able to cross into our dimensional."

Alfred's mind was reeling. "Reset time? So…none of it ever happened at all?"

"Yeah. That's about right. I think." Feliciano sounded really flustered, and Alfred realized why. Feliciano had been with Ludwig the day that this had all happened, had watched Ludwig die. If time had been reset, then that meant…

"Ah. I see." He tried to hide the ache in heart. It was a _great_ thing that Ludwig was back, he reminded himself. A wonderful thing. "So, _everyone_ should be back then?"

"They should be…" He sounded unsure of himself.

"Wait, if time was reset…" He ran a hand through his hair. "If time was reset, then why do we remember everything?"

"Uh…about that." A deep sigh came through the speaker. "Well…apparently, anyone who came into contact Britannia's magic will still retain anything that happened to them. Injuries and stuff. Um, but…I'm not sure about dying. Ludwig doesn't remember anything, but…but I don't think he came into direct contact with the magic. Maybe anyone who came into contact with it, regardless of death, will remember. I…I don't know yet. We need to call a meeting."

Alfred rose to his feet on shaky legs, grimacing at the rancid taste in his mouth. "Yeah. I'll do that."

"I'll see you there, then?" He asked warmly.

Alfred smiled. "Yeah. Of course." As soon as he hung up the phone, he shook his head and stumbled over to a chair, trying to clear his mind. There was so much running through his brain at this moment that he couldn't think straight. He flipped his phone open and started dialing a text message to send to everyone, calling them to a emergency meeting in London. He could imagine the world was pretty damn confused at this point. He certainly knew he was.

He had no idea what to think or feel right now. He had so many things to worry about. Like what had happened to Mattie and…Arthur.

Arthur.

He was up and out the door before he'd clicked the "send" button. He ran down the hallway and the stairs and burst out the front door of the building, rushing to the nearest taxi he could find. He was at Arthur's house ten minutes later. He paused just before knocking, remembering clearly what had happened last time he'd been here at this exact moment. There were no bombs falling from the sky this time, no airships looming overhead. But that didn't prevent him from being apprehensive. Feliciano hadn't been sure what the full effects of coming into contact with Britannia's magic were.

And Arthur had been more in contact with it than anyone else. He'd been _part_ of Britannia. What kind of physical state would be in? Would he even be here at all? Would he be dead? Would he have just ceased to exist altogether? He held his breathe, trying to calm himself down. He had never been a coward, and he wouldn't start now. He clenched his fist to rap on the door.

Just as it opened.

Alfred froze.

So did Francis.

* * *

Francis blinked. The room around him was dimly lit, various magic paraphernalia decorating the walls and shelves and floor. He looked over himself. He was sitting in a chair turned backward, his legs straddling the back of it. He'd been leaning on it in a fashion that would typically define boredom. He glanced around, trying to figure out what had happened to him. The last thing he remembered was…

Dying.

He felt sick, and his hand rose by itself to his stomach, where he remembered—far, far too clearly—stabbing himself with a letter opener. _Dieu_, it had hurt. It had hurt worse than any pain he had ever felt. And the fear. He'd been so afraid, so afraid of dying, so afraid of Mathieu having to watch him die. The world around him had gradually faded to black, and along with his consciousness had gone the pain. But…but then what? What had happened? If he had died, how was he here?

The memory struck him then. This was the room in Arthur's house that he'd been in when…when Arthur had first done the spell that summoned Britannia. The same circle was even on the floor still. Without even registering the thought, he shot up, marched across the room, and destroyed the circle. Just in case. Just in case, he told himself. After he was done, he stepped away.

Was this a memory of some kind? Was he in some sort of afterlife where he relived memories or…or…what? He had _died_. He was sure of it. So why was he _here_, of all places? He walked toward the window and peered out of it. The day was clear. Clear and perfect. London was intact. People were milling about, going on with their lives as normal.

As if nothing had ever happened.

He slowly headed for the stairs, taking one step at a time. He remembered falling down these steps while clutching his bleeding stomach after Drovich had stabbed him. He remembered laying uselessly on the floor while he bled out. He made it the bottom of the steps this time without any problems whatsoever. The house did not shudder. His body did not ache.

He closed in on the door, placing his hand on the knob. He paused. What would he find out there? That this had all been some kind of magic-induced nightmare? That he'd been hallucinating? Did he even want to know what was waiting for him on the other side of that door? Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was floating in a void of death, enveloped in a dream of what the world could have been like if none of _it_ had ever happened.

Swallowing his fear, he turned the handle and pulled it open.

Alfred stood on the other side.

They stared at each other silently for several moments before either dared to speak.

"F-Francis?"

"Alfred."

"Ah…are you okay?"

Francis slowly shook his head. "_Non_. I have woken up in what I fear is but a dream world."

Alfred's eyes widened substantially. "Oh. No, it's not. It's real." He smiled. "Feliciano used some kind of spell that reset time or something. This is actually the same day that Britannia attacked, right before Arthur used the spell that brought him to our world." He looked hopeful. "Where is Arthur, by the way? Is he with you?" Alfred looked past him, searching for the Englishmen. He frowned and sent Francis a questioning gaze.

Francis, meanwhile, slowly absorbed the massive revelation that Alfred had just given to him. Time had been…reset? So this was real? His death had been erased from the timeline altogether? He was really standing here, in Arthur's house, alive and well and free to live out the rest of his life? It almost sounded too good to be true. He was tempted to believe that this Alfred was just a figment of his imagination. But the boy's emotions were just so clear, so _real_, that he found himself unable to deny the truth of this. Had this just been some kind of fantasy his dead mind had cooked up, then why would he insert a worried, tired-looking America? His past fantasies of a perfect world usually included a happy, carefree version of everyone he knew.

"Francis."

Alfred's voice snapped him out of his dazed reverie. "Yes?"

"Where's Arthur?"

Francis slowly shook his head. _Angleterre_. His beloved _Angleterre_. The man he had watched fall from grace by way of a single mistake. The man that he had lost in the worst way possible. Arthur was supposed to have been up in that room with him, he knew. They had been there together, only ten or so feet apart, when Arthur had started doing that spell. If time had been reset to that exact moment, then where was _Angleterre_?

"I…I do not know."

Alfred paled. "He wasn't here with you?"

Francis slowly shook his head. "_Non_. He was not. He was not here."

Alfred backed up slowly and looked around blankly at the surrounding neighborhood, swallowing. "But…but if he's not _here_ where he's supposed to be, then…then where is he?"

Francis could only stare listlessly and say, "I do not know."

* * *

**Dro: **Yay, all our favorites are back! Except for Arthur...Hm...

**Next Chapter: **A worried Alfred gets a phone call that changes everything.


	58. Trouble in Paradise II

**Dro: **Figured I'd just post this now. In case you missed the memo, I'm switching to a night writing schedule. So I actually haven't written the next chapter yet. But I'm pretty sure there are two more chapters. Anyway, have this one for now.

**Chapter Summary: **Alfred receives a phone call.

**Warnings: **None

**Disclaimer: **Dro is too lazy to own APH. Far, far too lazy.

* * *

Alfred stood near the doors of the conference building. No one had arrived yet, and he couldn't help but pace back and forth. Francis had left him earlier, walking aimlessly off into London. Alfred had let him go without question. After what had happened to him, Francis needed some time to think. Hell, Alfred needed a crap ton of time to think, but he didn't have it. He'd called up Feliciano again after discovering that Arthur wasn't where he was supposed to be. Feliciano hadn't had an answer. He'd explained that the spell had been left _by_ Arthur for them to find when they boarded the airship. He only knew what Arthur had told him about it. Which meant they were out of luck.

What if Arthur was gone? That was Alfred's main concern. What if he'd just vanished into the void, never to be seen again? What if he never came back? Alfred had wanted to save Arthur more than anything, save him from the fate of being one with Britannia forever, save him from an eternity of causing pain and destruction against his will. And he might have failed. For all he knew, Arthur may have still been fused with Britannia. They might have been trapped in the dimension Britannia had come from, unable to return here. And if that was the case, then he would be there forever. They couldn't reopen that gateway. They couldn't let Britannia back in.

He had tried so hard to save Arthur, and now…Arthur may have been trapped in hell for eternity. The worse part was not knowing. He had no clue what had happened to Arthur, and that left his mind to cook up the worst possibilities imaginable. He leaned against the wall of the building and sighed, pressing a fist over his mouth. _Arthur, where are you? _ And it wasn't just Arthur that was the problem.

Matthew was missing too.

Alfred had called him and called him and called him, and Matthew had never picked up. Which left an even more terrifying possibility. Feliciano had told him that Matt had sacrificed himself to kill Britannia, and to kill him, Matt had taken him to the other plane. What if, since that plane negated magic, they'd never been reset? What if they'd been _erased_ along with that future timeline? Oh God, what if they just didn't exist anymore at all? He slid to the ground and pressed his face against his knees. _Please, God, don't let that be the case._ How could he live without both of them? He could go on without Mattie, without Arthur?

He started at the sound of his cell phone ringing, and he fumbled around for it, groaning as it slipped from his hands and bounced off the ground. He picked the now scratched phone up and glanced at the caller ID.

He stopped breathing.

It was Matt.

He nearly slammed the phone into his ear as he clicked the "talk" button. "Matt? Is that you? Are you okay? Where are you? What—"

"Whoa, Al! Slow down! One question at a time, okay?" Matt's voice was weary and tired.

Alfred heart was beating a mile a second. "O-okay. Sorry, I just…I thought you were dead, Matt. I really did. I was so scared. A-are you okay?"

Matt's flicked on his soothing voice. "Yes, Al. I'm okay. I'm…I'm not entirely sure what happened though. Everything is back to normal, and—"

"Yeah. Feliciano did it. The spell he had…his plan…it reset time back to the exact point before Arthur summoned Britannia into our dimension. None of it ever happened now, Matt. Everything is back to normal, just like it was supposed to be."

"…never happened…? Wow, that's…that's almost too good to believe."

"Yeah. I know." He replied breathlessly, knowing he had to inform his brother about Arthur. "Um, listen Matt. There's one thing that's not quite right about the spell. Well, there's a few things. Feliciano has theorized that anyone who came into contact with Britannia's magic is affected, so…you see, anyone who didn't die has retained any injury they had in the erased future. And anyone who did still has their memories of the erased future. The only one so far we know who has forgotten everything is Ludwig, who never came into contact with any magic at all. So…Um, there's one other thing."

"Hold on just one second. I need to process this." He heard Matt sigh deeply. "All right, so _everyone_ who died is back?"

"Yes."

"And everyone who came into contact with Britannia's magic remembers everything that happened?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Got that much. So, about the magic…"

"I, uh…I still think I have mine, but I can't access it yet. It's still there, and it's growing stronger though. I've been feeling it for a few hours now. It might be because I died or…I don't know. But I do know it's still there, at least in some form."

"I see."

Alfred shook his head. "Where were you anyway? I called you, like, twenty-five times. I thought…I thought something had happened to you and you hadn't come back…"

"I don't know. I just woke up like twenty minutes ago. Then I had to shift myself back into the right plane."

"Wait, you were in the other plane still? Like when you died?"

"Yeah. I guess when I died I just stayed there." He groaned. "So, where are you anyway? Did you guys regroup somewhere?"

Alfred hesitated. Wait, what was Matt talking about? "Well, I called a meeting in London. Everyone's heading here now."

"London? Why London? Wasn't everyone already in Barcelona?"

Alfred grasped for a coherent response. "Um, Matt…are you still in Barcelona?"

"Yes. I woke up _exactly_ where I died, Al. Why…oh. If time was reset, then everyone went back to _where_ they were on the day it happened, didn't they?"

"Yeah…how did you…" He rubbed his forehead. He had a massive headache now. "Look, Matt…about Arthur…"

Matt gasped. "_Oh_. _That_ was the 'one other thing,' wasn't it? You went to look for Arthur and he wasn't there, was he?"

A spark of hope ignited in his chest. "Exactly. Matt, if you're _there_, then…"

"Arthur is here. Right next to me."

"W-why didn't you say something sooner, Matt? For the love of God, I've been terrified that he's been dead all day!"

He could hear Matthew cringe. "Well, I was getting around to it, Al. I was just trying to get my bearings first. It's not everyday you die and then come right back to life!"

He backed down. "Sorry…I just…"

"You're on edge. I know, Al. And you have a legitimate reason to be."

"Can you put Arthur on the phone? I'm surprised he hasn't yelled at me for being an idiot yet."

"…"

"Matt?"

"Um, about that. I was trying to get around to telling you this, but…" He sighed sadly. "Arthur won't wake up, Al."

Alfred felt cold. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I can't get him to wake up. He's _alive_. He's _breathing_. But he's unconscious. I've been trying to wake him up since I did. And…he just won't."

There was something wrong. Another million terrifying possibilities popped into Alfred's head, and he cursed silently. "Alright then…well…um…Stay there. I'm coming."

"What?"

"To Barcelona. Right now. Just stay where you are."

"I'm on top of an apartment building, Al. It's hot up here."

"Then get Arthur to a hospital! I don't care what you do, Matt!" He yelled, exasperated. "Just please…please be there when I get there."

"…I will, Al. I swear."

* * *

Twenty minutes later he was on a plane headed for Barcelona, a worried Francis at his side. He figured several of the nations would be pissed that he'd left London without telling them, but…but he needed to see to this in private. When they figured out just what was going on with Arthur, then they'd explain. Until then, it was best to leave everyone in the dark.

The day had started to wane when they arrived in Barcelona. Alfred had called Matthew again and gotten directions to the hospital, and when they stepped out into the cooling late afternoon air, Alfred couldn't help but shiver. He looked over the hospital, knowing Arthur was in there somewhere. Arthur, who he kept praying was okay. He glanced at Francis, who seemed equally nervous.

When the elevator reached the fifth floor, Alfred was almost afraid to step out of it. But he managed to make his feet take him forward and down the hallway to the left, just as Matt had instructed. He spotted the familiar wavy blond hair just as he turned the corner. Matt leaned against the wall next to a room with an open door. His tired eyes caught sight of them just as they closed in on him.

"Al…"

Alfred's restraint completely broke down, and he hurled himself at his brother, catching him in a tight embrace. "Matt. God, Matt. I thought…I thought I'd lost you." Matt buried his face in his shoulder, inhaling deeply. He didn't say anything else. He didn't have to. When they finally broke apart, Matthew seemed to notice Francis for the first time. He paled slightly, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Papa…"

Francis gazed at him sadly. "Mathieu."

They met in the middle, hugging one another tightly. Alfred smiled. He'd been so afraid when he'd seen Matt's empty eyes after Francis' death. He'd been so afraid he'd lost his own brother as well as a dear friend. But now that was all righted again. Matthew had his father back. Alfred had his brother back. And…

He finally dared to peek into the hospital room.

Arthur laid between pristine white sheets, the constant beep indicating he was in no immediate danger. But he was still asleep. In a daze, Alfred strode slowly into the room, searching Arthur's face for any sign of consciousness. There was none. He stopped just short of the bed, drinking in Arthur's features. He looked perfectly healthy. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with him at all. So why wouldn't he wake up? Granted, Matt had been unconscious for a while too, so maybe it would just take a little longer for Arthur? Maybe if they just waited, he would wake up on his own? He dared to slip his own hand under Arthur's, linking their fingers together. Arthur didn't stir. It was like he was lost to the world around him.

"He's been like that since I woke up earlier." Matthew said calmly as he walked into the room, Francis in tow. The Frenchman immediately slipped around the other side of the bed and took Arthur's other hand. "The doctors aren't sure what's wrong with him. He doesn't have any injuries. They scanned his brain in a thousand ways. Everything _seems_ fine. He just…He just won't wake up."

"_Angleterre_…_" _Francis whispered.

Alfred gripped Arthur's hand harder. Then something caught his eye. A slight flutter of lashes. "Arthur?" He leaned closer. It might have just been his imagination—

Arthur's eyes opened.

The room went deathly silent. They all had a million things to say to Arthur, but none of them would dare to make a sound. They were too afraid that it was an illusion. Arthur's green eyes landed on each of them, _very_ noticeably blank in expression. That wasn't like Arthur at all. Alfred's heart was pounding, and he met Francis' eyes before glancing at Matt. Finally, gathering up his courage, he spoke.

"Arthur? Can you hear me?"

Those blank green eyes flicked back toward him, and his brows scrunched in confusion. "I can hear you." He answered simply. His voice sounded incredibly confused and curious.

They all exchanged glances again. Alfred continued. "And how do you feel?"

Arthur pursed his lips. "Alright, I suppose. Rather hungry though." There was a growing spark of confusion in his eyes, and Alfred felt like something was _really wrong_ here. Why was Arthur acting like this? Arthur sat up, noticing for the first time that Alfred and Francis were holding his hands. Now he looked even more confused. He bit his lip. "Um, this is probably going to sound like a really awkward question, especially considering you all apparently care about me tremendously." He swallowed, a hint of fear in eyes. "But, um…"

"What is it, _mon cher_?" Francis asked tenderly.

Arthur blushed lightly. "Um…well…" The blush immediately faded, and he started to pale considerably, his eyes narrowing before widening in fear.

"What's wrong?" Matthew asked nervously.

Arthur looked over them all again, and for the first time, Alfred realized just what was wrong with the way he was doing it. There was no acknowledgement of the way he thought of any of them. There was no hint of battling annoyance and dear friendship aimed at Francis' presence, no tenderness in the way he looked at Matthew, no subdued respect and caring masked as irritation when his eyes met Alfred's. There was just…nothing.

There was absolutely no recognition whatsoever.

"I know this is probably a terrible thing to ask, but…" His eyes pleaded with them. "Who am I?"

* * *

**Dro: **Ouch...

**Next Chapter: **The world tries to figure out just what happened. Francis, Alfred, and Matthew try to deal with Arthur's condition. Feliciano battles his emotions. Everyone is pretty confused.


	59. Trouble in Paradise III

**Dro: **_One_ more chapter! One! -cries in joy- I love this story and all, but _damn_ if it wasn't a long-ass story. I'm glad it's finally coming to a close, and I hope you guys love the ending. The question about the fluffy vs. mind fuck ending had very mixed results, so I've just decided to go with my original mind fuck plan. Because I'm just mean like that. Expect the mind fuck to just slap you in the face because it honestly just comes out of nowhere.

**Chapter Summary: **The nations of the world try to figure out what happened. Alfred, Matthew, and Francis try to deal with Arthur's condition. Feliciano is stressed and confused about his conflicting emotions.

**Warnings: **Language

**Disclaimer: **Dro will probably be murdered after she posts the final chapter, so she'll likely never own APH...

* * *

Feliciano sat outside the conference room, swinging his legs aimlessly back and forth. He had so much to think about it, and though he had what could be eternity now, he felt he was still pressed for time. He had had the vain hope that the reset spell would somehow fix all of the world's problems, but while the apocalypse had been averted, a plethora of smaller issues had taken its place. The first problem was, of course, Ludwig. Ludwig was one of the few nations that had actually been assaulted or involved with Britannia or his follows that remembered nothing. Absolutely nothing. Even the newly revived Finland—who Sweden was relentlessly clinging to—remembered what had happened up to his death. But Ludwig hadn't come into contact with Britannia's magic, and he remembered nothing.

He'd been so confused that he hadn't even believed them at first. It had taken hours of telling and retelling to even get him to begin to understand what they had all been through. To him, seconds had gone by in which everyone he loved and cared about had changed drastically without explanation. And Feliciano had no idea how to remedy that problem. Ludwig now believed they were telling the truth, of course—he had been forced to accept it with all the available evidence—but that didn't mean he could really process it. He couldn't seem to associate properly with anyone in his circle of friends. They all had something in their memories that Ludwig lacked, and it brought them together in a twisted way that Ludwig was an outcast of. The last time he had peeked into the conference room, Ludwig had been staring silently at the table while the other nations he knew well, respected, and cared about whispered and talked and had tearful and relieved reunions with one another. He was the only one not part of the equation.

And that was only the beginning of the problem.

Feliciano was now clueless about how to feel. He had considered Ludwig's resurrection several times before he'd actually done the spell, but he'd quickly realized he hadn't fully thought of the emotional effect that Ludwig's return would have on him. His feelings were a mess now. He _loved_ Alfred, for sure. They had something between them that was burning brightly, a brand new emotional bond that was still gleaming with a pure white light. But what Feliciano had with Ludwig was something far older, far steadier, something that had been so deeply ingrained within him that he could scarcely imagine it not being there anymore, despite the fact that one end of the chain that bound them together had been snapped months ago for him and had only recently reappeared.

In short, he was literally being pulled in two opposite directions. Did he stick with his old standby, the man who he had loved and cherished for decades but had lost to the enemy? Or did he stay true to the man he was still forging a brand new chain with, with its metal still boiling in that bright, hot flame? He honestly didn't know the answer here. For the first time in a long while he felt like that helpless little Italy he had been for years and years once again. He felt like he'd reverted to that hapless coward who had no clue how to fight or strategize, who would run away at all costs and hide behind those stronger than himself. But despite how he felt, that was not who he was any longer. And he knew that well.

So he pressed on.

Now they had an entire other problem to face, one that Feliciano didn't know any solution to whatsoever. England had lost his memory. Seemingly without explanation. Feliciano had been thinking carefully over the situation for the last hour and a half as he awaited Alfred's arrival back in London, and he had come up with very little. The only thing he had was a theory. England had been bound to Britannia in such a way that the spell hadn't been able to differentiate between them. That had to be what had happened. So instead of separating the memories of each and sending them back to the Arthur they belonged to, the spell must have done something else. And so far, he'd come up with two possibilities. One, all the memories had ended up with Britannia, which would mean that Britannia was now out there in another dimension with all the information that England had. Which could very possibly mean trouble for them. Or two, all their memories had been purged, and both Arthurs had been sent on their way. Which could bode very well for them in the case of Britannia's intended invasion but would leave Arthur basically…well, an amnesiac with absolutely no sense of himself.

Of course, there were endless possibilities, but Feliciano had pegged those as the most likely. He had to assume that the spell had done its job properly despite the fact that everyone affected by Britannia's magic seemed to have retained their memories, death or not. Something England had been wrong about. And it seemed he'd been wrong about the magic too. Alfred had said he felt his returning, and Feliciano and Lovino were both the same way. Which meant that any magic that had been Britannia's at one point—having later switched owners—had now become permanently attached to its new host nation. That, in theory, wasn't a problem, but they would have to handle the news about it very carefully. This was still politics, and finding out a possible rival now had an otherworldly advantage over you would probably not go over well.

"Feliciano."

He turned and spotted Lovino leaning out of the doorway. "Yes?"

"They're about ready to riot. Get in here and explain everything. Alfred and the others can just catch up later." Lovino glanced back into the conference room, an annoyed scowl marring his face.

Feliciano rubbed his temples and groaned under his breath. He was about to walk into the lion's den now. Most of the nations probably wouldn't be a problem, but they would have a lot of questions that could easily lead to less than desired answers. "Alright. Let's get this over with." He sent one last longing look down the hallway, hoping Alfred would suddenly round the corner. When he failed to materialize, Feliciano rose to his feet and marched into the conference room, trying to put on the best front he could.

What they discussed in this room today could alter the fate of the world.

* * *

Alfred stared silently out the window. He couldn't bear to look at Arthur anymore. Every time he did, he would remember the man that raised him, that loved him, that he loved back, and when his eyes would focus on Arthur's face, Arthur's eyes, he would be bombarded over and over with the reality that that Arthur was no longer in existence. That Arthur was gone. _His_ Arthur was gone. The man sitting across the aisle from him was a blank slate with Arthur's face. And that reality was weighing heavily on them all.

Alfred wasn't even sure how Francis had managed to sit next to the man, to hold his hand as if the Arthur he knew was really there. Because he wasn't. How long had Alfred spent in that hospital bathroom repeating that over and over to himself? His eyes were still burning and red from the tears he'd shed there. He'd worked so hard to save Arthur…and he'd failed. Arthur's body sat across from him, fully intact and completely unmarred—not even his former scars were there anymore. But his mind was gone. Completely. He didn't remember them. He didn't remember himself. He didn't remember anything at all.

And so, they had lost Arthur.

He had nothing but the vain hope that one day Arthur would recover his memories. But he knew the chance of that was incredibly slim. What this reset spell had done, it had done. And if it had truly wiped Arthur's memories from him, then they were likely gone forever. Of course, he wouldn't let that cause him to treat this new Arthur badly. He could never. It was still Arthur in some sense. And the man was still very much England. But this was not the man who had been an empire, a pirate, a long-time rival, a father, a brother, a lover…This was not the man who had been through more than a millennium of life, who had fought countless wars and constructed his identity over many, many centuries.

That man had ceased to exist along with his memories.

Now, a curious, confused, and rather frightened man with the same face stood in that Arthur's place. And while that man was innocent and without fault, Alfred couldn't help but hope that he would one day disappear and that that other man would return. But the more he thought, the more he began to accept that he had lost Arthur forever. And the more he accepted that, the worse he felt.

He could never blame this new Arthur for taking the old one's place.

But neither could he accept that this man was really Arthur Kirkland.

This man had none of Arthur's mannerisms. He was not brash and irritable. He was not determined to a fault. He was meek and mild and polite and everything that Arthur claimed to be but had never been. This was the patient and kind gentleman that Alfred had scoffed at Arthur ever truly becoming.

It appeared that the joke was on him.

A hand landed on his own and squeezed gently, and Alfred glanced at his brother. Matthew had been crying as well, and he imagined they looked every bit like the twins they were supposed to be. He let his lips curl up into a ghost of a smile, and Matthew returned the gesture. They had helped to save the world, but they had lost something irreplaceable in the process.

When they finally arrived at the conference center, it was early in the morning. None of them had yet to sleep, and Alfred was beginning to feel the fatigue from his multitude of stressors begin to weigh on his body. They quickly escorted Arthur into the building and inside the elevator, where they all waited patiently until it arrived at the third floor. They trudged out, all of them obviously tired. Arthur seemed frazzled and on edge, and Alfred felt guilty about how they had treated the man. They had basically dumped hundreds and hundreds of years of history and responsibility on him in just a few hours. While the Arthur who had lived through all of those things was well adjusted to cope with them, this Arthur was not. And it was showing.

As they made it to the conference room, they realized that, indeed, whatever the nations were discussing had not been interrupted for sleep. Many shouts and yells and angry retorts drifted through the wooden doors, and Alfred sighed to himself. He signaled for Mattie to follow him and for Francis to stay behind with Arthur, and the pair made their way into the room.

It immediately fell into utter silence.

Alfred swallowed. "Hey, guys." He let his eyes scan the room, feeling more and more relieved as healthy—and alive—nations gazed back at him. "So, how is everything going?" Not that he didn't already know the answer to that question. "I'm assuming Feliciano told you everything?"

Most of them nodded, but Alfred caught a minor shake from Feliciano, and he sent the man a questioning look. He tried to push down all the raging emotions he felt just from looking at the man and tried his best to concentrate on what was happening in front of him. Feliciano rose to his feet and walked quickly around the table, leaning close to him.

"I didn't tell them about England's memory loss." Feliciano whispered.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"I didn't want to cause anymore controversy. By the time we'd all stopped to recap the entire story from beginning to end, they'd all become angry and restless, many of them snapping about England's accidental involvement. I was afraid to mention the amnesia because I thought they would try to claim it was a false excuse for his 'actions.' I was hoping his presence would quell their anger and keep them in line. No better way to prove yourself than showing the prime evidence, right?"

Alfred nodded slowly. He was mildly angry that anyone would dare to blame Arthur after all the hell he'd been through. Yes, he'd made a mistake, and he'd gotten more than enough punishment for it. He didn't deserve anymore. Ever. He shook his head. "Alright, everyone. Um, well…I suppose you all know the entire story now, right?"

Some of them nodded. Others just look tired and annoyed. A very irate looking Turkey responded. "So, where is England? We were told he was with you."

"H…He is. But, there's something you all need to know first." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Mattie inching closer to Ivan, who eyes seemed to be glued to his brother's slowly advancing form. He took a deep breath. "It's just…Look, I know some of you are mad at England and all, but I want you all to realize something. He made a mistake. Everyone knows that. But it was just that. A mistake. He didn't do this on purpose, and if he had had any inkling that something even a hundred times less serious than this—a thousand, a million—could have happened, he never would have done it in the first place. So stop trying to act like he did this to take over the world or some bull shit like that." His voice lowered an octave. "Britannia coming here was caused by an accident, and we all need to get over that, okay? Arthur has suffered in the worst ways imaginable for his mistake, and he deserved none of it. So keep your fucking opinions to yourself. Because Arthur doesn't need it right now. Especially now." His voice cracked, and he realized that he'd started to cry again.

Feliciano had paled considerably, and the room seemed to be holding its breath. Finally, Vash spoke up. "I am now under the impression that something else has happened to England. Am I correct?"

Alfred nodded silently. "Yeah…he, uh…he…"

A voice rang out from the doorway. "Well, according to, um…" Everyone turned to look at the flustered Englishman. Arthur flushed nervously. "Well, you see…it appears as though…well, according to, um…Francis, Matthew, and Alfred?" He glanced at them for confirmation. Confirmation of their _names_. Finally, he sighed deeply. "Look, I don't remember anything at all from before today. Nothing. Not my own name. Not anyone else's. Not this whole being a nation business. Nothing at all. But…" He swallowed. "But if I've done something wrong, which it sounds like I've done…I…I would like to give you express permission to punish me for it. Because…Because I'm apparently the cause of all this mess, and…" There were tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry. For whatever I did to make all this near doomsday stuff and everything happen. And I…And I…If you want to accuse me or arrest me or whatever, then please go right ahead. Because if I truly did this, if I truly made all of you this miserable and hurt you and…If this is really all my fault, then please speak up and charge me for my crimes. I will willingly face whatever punishment you want to deal me." A tear slipped down his cheek.

Not a single nation said a word.

* * *

**Dro: **Aw, poor amnesiac Arthur.

**Next Chapter: **The world moves on from its near death experience. Some people return to the ways of _before_. Some do not.


	60. Yesterday and Tomorrow

**Dro: **Finished! -dies-

**Chapter Summary:** The world moves on from its near death experience. Some people continue as they did before. Some do not.

**Warnings: **None

**Disclaimer: **I have given you this in every chapter, and I refuse to say anything other than this: After you get to the end, you'll be happy I don't APH. Because if I did, you would be feeling the way you'll feel at the end of this..._all the time._

* * *

_Two Months._

Berwald sipped the water from his glass and sat it back down on the patio table. His eyes were locked onto Tino's form as the man quickly worked the soil in his garden. Hanatamago yipped and barked at the birds teasing him from low tree branches. And Berwald just sat by, perfectly content to do nothing other than watch the world. His life seemed to center on Tino now, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Rarely were they ever apart, and even more rarely were they out of touch for more than an hour. And that was perfectly fine with Berwald.

In fact, it was ideal.

The anniversary of the day that the Italy brothers had saved them all was quickly approaching, and for most of the world, it would be the first time they remembered the day ever happening at all. Berwald figured that was best. It wouldn't do for the rest of the world to be dragged down by such memories. On one hand, Tino's death had at least—ultimately—saved him from the horrors that had followed it. He had come back just the same as before. He was slightly more determined, slightly more bent on enjoying life to the fullest. But that was the only effect. The only one. And overall, it had made Tino an even better person than he had been.

"Hey, guys! Ready for that cookout?"

Berwald glanced to the side, realizing that the others had finally arrived for their dinner. He silently waved, daring to crack a smile. Mathias, who had spoken, shifted his grin into relief and happiness. They had become closer after the event that had nearly destroyed them all. It was ironic in a way. Tino rose to his feet and shuffled over, pulling the gate to their fence open.

"Come on in, everyone! I already have stuff cooking in the kitchen. I was just about to go check on it." He said quickly. He'd been so energized for the last few days that Berwald had actually started laughing a few times. The shock on Tino's face had made him laugh all the more.

"Tch, what's up with that, Berwald? Why are you making poor Tino do all the work?" Mathias playfully accused.

Tino countered. "Su-san was the who picked up the groceries and cleaned the house and walked Hanatamago and—"

Mathias raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, whoa! I get it. I get it. My bad."

"I'll help you with the food, if you don't mind, Tino." Emil piped up.

"Oh, sure!" The two filed into the house, followed by a silent Lukas, who Berwald could almost swear was trying to conceal an amused smirk.

Mathias plopped into the chair next to him and let his feet rest on the table. He stared up at the clear blue sky, a crisp wind already hinting at the cool winter that was sure to unfold in a few more months. His lips curled up again, and his eyes grew wistful.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" He asked.

Berwald didn't even need to reply.

* * *

_Four months. _

Alfred yawned as he sank onto his sofa. His workload had been extra heavy this week. And unfortunately, magic couldn't do his paperwork for him. However…He flicked his fingers inward, and the TV remote flew towards him from the shelf and landed in his hand. Yeah, that was always a plus. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, releasing the feeling of stiffness that always overcame him when he was at work. He turned on the TV and set it to the news, but when he saw it was just about another natural disaster story, he changed it to a sci-fi movie. He'd had more than enough of disasters.

He'd lived through a virtual apocalypse, only to have it completely reversed. And the problems hadn't even stopped there. Everything was finally starting to settle down now, though. The more envious nations—who hated his new magic powers—had finally gotten over themselves after some…convincing by the others. The world had finally returned to its true axis, and everything seemed to be going well. Almost no humans remembered the events, which made it easy to cover up. Alfred hadn't had a particular desire to do such a thing, but even he could see the benefits that it would have. There was no need to cause unnecessary panic.

Of course, he'd been constantly panicking himself since he'd found out about Arthur's amnesia. It was still there. Arthur had been forced to relearn his own nation's history—from a nation's perspective, of course. Which tended to be slightly different than the official textbook version. Alfred usually visited Arthur at least once a week, but all the flights back and forth from London were taking their toll on him, and he'd been fatigued lately. Finally, Arthur himself had convinced Alfred to take a few weeks off.

Alfred knew he had no reason to worry. Francis was taking good care of Arthur. He smiled to himself. There was an obvious relationship budding between the two of them. If this had been any other situation, he probably would have accused Francis of taking advantage. But for this…Francis had never been more sincere in his life. This may not have been the same England that he knew, but it was still his _Angleterre_, and Francis couldn't abandon his feelings for the man.

So Alfred had opted to leave Arthur to his own devices for a while. With Francis keeping a watchful eye on him, of course. And then there was Mattie. Alfred snorted. Ivan and Matthew had become closer since the Britannia incident. They were constantly visiting one another, and Alfred had accidentally walked in on them more than once during his impromptu visits to Canada. If that had been a few months ago, he probably would have been pissed that the Russian was with his brother. But this was now, and he could accept it. Well, to some degree.

So it seemed all the nations and all his loved ones were doing great. Everyone except—

His doorbell rang. He sat up groggily, yawning again, and trudged toward his foyer. He hadn't been expecting anyone. He unlocked the door and hauled it open, revealing Feliciano standing on the other side. Alfred froze.

Feliciano.

He hadn't seen much of Feliciano in the past four months. They'd spoken on the phone frequently for the first few weeks afterwards, but…their relationship seemed to have degraded just as quickly as it had formed. Ludwig was back, so Alfred had expected it to happen, but…It had hurt. It had hurt a hell of a lot more than he'd thought it would.

"F-Feli…"

Feliciano was facing the street, gazing at the night sky. "Hey, Alfred." He replied, turning swiftly on his feet. He smiled softly. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"N-no…Of course not." He moved out of the way and let the Italian slip by, and for the first time, he realized that Feliciano was carrying a suitcase. He sat the brown case down and turned to face the taller American, and Alfred gradually closed the door, unsure as to where this was going.

"It's been a while, huh?" Feliciano pointed out.

"Yeah. It has."

Without warning, Feliciano closed the gap between them and kissed Alfred passionately, and all the suppressed emotions that Alfred had locked away deep inside himself came crashing back to the forefront. He wrapped his arms tightly around the smaller man, holding onto him for dear life. When they finally parted, they were both flushed and grinning.

"I…I thought…you and Ludwig…" He failed to make a coherent sentence, but Feliciano understood all the same.

"We didn't work out." He said simply. The he seemed to reconsider. "That's actually why I stopped calling you. I needed time to think. I've actually spent he last few months totally alone in a little beach house, trying to figure out what I wanted to do. The first month with Ludwig was…well, for lack of a better word, torture. My mannerisms and personality have changed, and…it was like we'd lost all our rhythm, you know?" His gaze grew nostalgic, and Alfred felt a pang of envy for what Ludwig had had with Feliciano. Decades of a relationship so deep that he couldn't even fathom it. "We used to compliment one another perfectly, Ludwig and I. But all of that is…gone. Ludwig tried to hold onto it, but I could see our relationship slipping away. And I knew it was never going to last. He loves the me which I no longer am. You…" He cupped Alfred's cheek. "You love the me I am now."

Alfred's smile lit up his entire face. "Yes. Yes, I do."

He glanced at his suitcase. "Do you mind if I stay for a while?"

"If you wanted, you could stay forever."

* * *

_Eight Months._

He tapped his fingers impatiently, staring at the report in front of him. This would be his first time giving a report on his own. Well, at least in his current memory. Apparently, he had done this thousands upon thousands of times already. Francis had helped him relearn just how this whole nation meeting thing went, but he was still unsure of himself. Hell, he was still unsure about who he was. He knew he was Arthur Kirkland, England, and he had learned just about everything about himself that there was to learn. Well, he still had a few more history books and journals and logs to go through, but he'd gotten the gist of it.

However, if he was going to be truthful about this, he was less worried about this report than he was about his date with Francis tonight. Their relationship had been pretty quiet up to this point, but he had assured Francis that he was ready to be more public about the whole thing. It was a might bit embarrassing that a man who had once been a empire would act like a blushing teenager with a crush. He was an adult, and he was perfectly okay with having an acknowledged relationship with Francis.

Well, that, and he was terrified about it.

He was trying his best to make a good impression on all these people. They had known a man that he was just wasn't anymore, and he was constantly afraid they would reject him. Everyone generally seemed amiable toward him, but he couldn't help but think that most of it was just a farce for diplomatic reasons. He wanted these people to genuinely like him as a person, and as his own person. Even though he technically _was_ the England they knew, he was still a very different man, and he wanted more than anything for them to see him as the person he was now and not the person he had been.

But it was hard. He had their England's face and his voice and his overall appearance. He looked every bit like the man that most of them had known for centuries. But he wasn't. And the moment he opened his mouth, that became obvious. He would catch the dying glints of hope in their eyes sometimes. They wanted their England back. That much was obvious. And it hurt knowing that they just saw him as…a poor replacement. He was trying his best. He really was. So why was it so hard to get them to see this from his point of view? He wanted to be treated like the man he was now, not the man he used to be.

The call to order by Germany startled him, and he jumped. "England, you're giving the first report today, yes?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, that's right." He cleared his throat, feeling all their eyes on him. Some of them looked at him only from polite obligation. Others gazed at him with emotions he couldn't possibly begin to understand. Like Alfred and Matthew and Francis, who had finally arrived and sat down next to him. They cared about him, both him and their England. He knew that well. But he couldn't help but wonder what they would do if the possibility to get their England back arose. Despite his best attempts, his _wasn't_ and would never be their England.

And as long as that was true, they would never really accept him.

Francis' hand landed on his own, and he glanced toward the Frenchman. "Do not worry, _Angleterre_. I am right here."

But even though he was an outsider, there were still some things he loved about this world. And Francis was one of them. He smiled. "I know." And as long as _that_ was true, he would accept his replacement label with honor and pride.

* * *

_One Year. _

Francis poured the batter into the pan and evened it out before placing it in the oven. A year. He sighed wistfully. It had been an entire year. And with every second that ticked by, it felt more like the entire incident was just a dream. Of course, it hadn't been, and Arthur's condition was a perfect example of that. But he could deal with Arthur's condition. He had Arthur, alive, healthy, and happy. And that was all that mattered.

He sauntered back into the living room, the TV set to a low volume on the evening news. Arthur was pouring over another of his old journals, trying to absorb every detail about who he was and how he acted. Several times, Francis had been forced to endure Arthur's _horrid_ attempts to act like his old self, and they had been more amusing than anything else. Francis had explained to him several times that Arthur didn't need to try so hard. This new incarnation of Arthur was perfect just the way he was. And Francis truly believed that.

This wasn't the irritable former pirate he had formerly known. This wasn't the man he had so many centuries of history and war and tension with. This was a different man, and he had a different personality. And Francis was okay with that. He had long accepted that his old _Angleterre_ was gone. But where the former empire had vanished, a polite and determined man had appeared. And Francis liked this man.

Francis _loved_ this man.

Francis had determined that it didn't matter how Arthur acted or what he remembered. He _loved_ Arthur fully and completely, and even if the man had never returned his feelings, he would have stuck right by his side until the end. He slowly waltzed into the living room, skirting by the shelves that lined the wall. Most of them contained pictures. Arthur had not removed a single one. Pictures from the 1940's and before still sat there. Pictures of events that Arthur couldn't remember in the slightest were still perfectly preserved. There was no dust. No grime. Mixed in with them, however, were pictures taken within the last year. Arthur's latest birthday. America's. Canada's. His own. The world gathering they'd all had to show appreciation to Feliciano, Lovino, Alfred, Matthew, _and_ Arthur, who had all had a hand in saving the world.

Arthur did not want to pretend that his past did not exist. He wanted to build from it even though he could not remember it. And that made Francis love him all the more.

"Mm, that smells good, Francis." Arthur noted, a smirk on his lips even though he had yet to look up from his book. Francis made his way over and leaned down, tucking his hand under Arthur's chin and guiding it upward until their lips met in a chaste kiss.

"It will be a most delicious cake, _Angleterre_."

Arthur snorted. "We'll see." He glanced back down at his book, and Francis' eyes soon followed. It was a drawing of England's North American territory after he had lost Canada to the man. Arthur's finger traced an odd shape through both Canada and the American Colonies that seemingly added some pieces and ignored others. "It's strange, you know. I had all of this at one time. I know I did. And yet, I can't remember this at all. Some things feel…_familiar_ to me, in a way. But other things just…I feel nothing."

Francis nodded solemnly. This was common for Arthur. It was as if he'd retained some latent recognition for things. But only some things. "Do not worry about it, _mon cher_. You do not have to remember. And you should not berate yourself for being unable to do so."

Arthur sighed. "I know that." He continued to trace his fingers along nonexistent lines on the page. "It's just…some things nag at me so much when I'm reading over them. And with others, I feel strangely empty. I want _everything_ to feel familiar. Not just some things. And then sometimes, I feel like what I'm reading is just…wrong."

"I understand, Arthur. And I will say it again." He kissed Arthur's forehead. "Do not be so hard on yourself. It doesn't matter whether all or none of it comes back to you. You are fine just the way you are now."

Arthur smiled. "I love you, Francis."

His heart fluttered. How many centuries had he waited to hear those words? "And I love you the same, _Angleterre._" The timer on the over rang, and he straightened up. "Ah, time to get back to my masterpiece!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say." His eyes trailed back to the page he seemed fixated on. "Oh, one thing."

Francis paused in the doorway. "Hm?"

"Well, ever since I started reading these colonial journals and such, something has just been nagging at me. But I can't seem to find what I'm looking for in any of these books. And I can't get the thought out of my head. I feel like something is missing here, but I can't find any reference to it. Maybe you can help me. "

Francis cocked his head to the side. "What is it?"

Arthur's eyes met his own, eyes alight with absolute and innocent curiosity.

"Did I ever have a colony called New Britain?"

* * *

**Dro: **-snorts- -chuckles- -breaks out into immensely loud and obnoxious laughter- -passes out from oxygen deprivation- I should probably go to my secret hiding place now, shouldn't I? -straps on bullet proof vest- Bye then! -runs for her life-

**The End**


End file.
